


If the Sky Could Dream

by lurkdusoleil



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Boypussy, Boypussy Kurt, Dragons, M/M, vague Kurt/Adam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 16:24:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2354918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lurkdusoleil/pseuds/lurkdusoleil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dragons don't ever really leave their princes, and the princes never really want them to go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings/Kinks: boypussy, underage, age difference (~300 years), angst, gender shenanigans, transphobia, religious prejudice, barebacking, swordfighting, masturbation, minor character death, hybrids (dragon)
> 
> Thank you to tina-warriorprincess, judearaya, and itsrainingjellybeans for the beta work and invaluable insight, and to hollyhime and your-tragic-fairytale for their early help.
> 
> This story is complete. It will post every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday until it's done.

To the king, Burt Hummel, a daughter is born.

When he first sees her, he weeps. She is so tiny, and wrinkled, and pink, but her face is that of her mother’s, and she has thick auburn hair already. She screams and cries, but then she settles, and before he knows it Burt is holding a sleeping baby--so delicate, so _breakable_ , gods, he could lose her at any time--but then his wife is smiling at him and all is right with the world again. 

The kingdom celebrates, and lavish banquets are thrown for the rich while the poor break out their best bread and ale and toast to the new princess. She is the light of her father’s eyes, and thus the light of kingdom. She is their future. A beautiful little baby with bright blue eyes and thick auburn hair like her mother’s. She’s sweet and bright and such a charming girl, even as she grows. She is the light of her father’s eyes, from infant to toddler, in her tiny dresses, with her tumbling locks of soft, soft hair. Burt adores her, adores watching her play with dolls and tea and dresses. 

And it stays that way until her third year. 

One night, after putting their child to bed, the queen approaches her husband. 

“What is it?” Burt asks. 

“I have news of our son,” Elizabeth says. 

Burt stands, misunderstanding. “Are you--” 

“No,” Elizabeth says. “We were mistaken. Kate is--not Kate.” 

Burt blinks. “What do you mean?” 

“Tonight, I was informed that our daughter is, in fact, our son.” 

“She-- _he_ is--a reborn?” he asks, wondering that a child who plays with dolls and dresses and tea sets could have been born in the wrong body when she--or he--was born as a girl. 

“I think--a carrier, actually,” Elizabeth says. 

A Carrier. A child that is male to all appearances, but with--different genitalia. A gender in between. Burt only half understands it himself, hasn’t met one of these rare individuals, but--a son? 

“A son?” Burt says, tears in his eyes. “I have a son?” 

“Yes, my love,” the queen says, and Burt feels a touch of mourning for his beautiful daughter, but it’s overwhelmed by the love he feels for--his _son._ So he simply smiles and wraps her in his arms. 

“I always wanted a son,” he says, and she laughs before they make an appointment with the tailor for the very next day. 

Of course, Burt has no idea what to say the next morning when his--his son walks in to breakfast in little breeches and a tiny tunic, holding his mother’s hand and beaming underneath short-cropped hair. 

“Hello,” Burt says, smiling down at what is clearly a little boy. “What can I call you now, son?” It’s a traditional question to ask those who are _reborn_ \--people who find themselves a gender other than that they were assigned at birth. And while his son is not technically a _reborn_ , but rather another of their society’s five accepted genders--a _carrier_ , one who carries unconventional anatomy--Burt has no other way to handle this. 

“I like your name Daddy,” he says in his sweet little voice. 

“You should have your own name, sweetheart,” Elizabeth says. “Why not...Kurt? So it’s like your daddy’s, and yours too.” 

The boy smiles. “Kurt.” 

_Kurt._

And as he grows, it becomes clear that the young prince was indeed correct--for he was never a girl to begin with, but indeed a carrier: a male in every way, save for the genitalia, which caused the confusion in the first place. There’s no perfect way to identify carriers, nor any gender, until a child has declared themselves, usually when puberty hits. Whether their bodies match that gender is individual to each, but Kurt grows into a boy’s body, all flat chest and gangly limbs and narrow hips, and by the time he is ten, he is the kingdom’s most prized possession--a bright boy, perhaps too bright for his own good, still the light of his father’s eyes, though he still prefers to play with dresses and dolls and not any pastime Burt has interest in. 

He becomes more than that, though, after his wife the queen falls to an assassination in their son’s eighth year. Burt has his enemies among the nobles, who look to climb to his position, or among foreign diplomats, and one in particular seemed to hate him enough to commit a murder. But the assassin, stabbing the queen one night as she walked through her gardens unattended, got away, and so Burt has no idea who among his enemies sent them, or why. But he does know that he lost his beloved wife, and Kurt’s mother. And so Kurt is all the king has, his heir and the continuation of his line, who can provide more heirs in the future. 

A gift like this needs to be protected. 

Burt doesn’t understand his son. Kurt is not an easy child to know--often cool and distant, better acquainted with his mother’s company and more favorable to it--sp when his mother dies, and Kurt withdraws even further, Burt doesn’t know what to do. He tries--he tries for years, but he and Kurt seem baffled by each other. He’s baffled by Kurt’s delicate sensibilities and his introversion, his preference for solitude over the company of the other children in the palace. Kurt seems baffled by Burt’s simplicity, his traditional mores and content with things being much as they are. Kurt has all these _ideas_ and Burt does his best to field them. But this child is always unsatisfied, and Burt feels that he can’t offer him the life he wants. 

And so two years past the death of his queen, Burt comes to a decision. Kurt is so like his mother, and Burt can’t help but face the fact that his son needs a different atmosphere, as well as more protection than guards, who can be left behind and slipped away from. Kurt is too independent to stay in their range. He is a child and believes himself invincible, and the loss of his mother brought death into his life far too soon, but he’s still so wayward, perhaps even more so. He needs more protection and a more understanding hand in his life, one that has the time to devote to his complexities. So one night, shortly after Kurt’s tenth birthday, Burt calls his son to meet with him. 

“How are your studies, Kurt?” he asks, unsure of how to break into the news. 

“They’re fine,” Kurt sighs. He’s often melancholy as of late--he has always felt apart from the other children in the palace, and misses his mother, though he bears it with a strength that impresses Burt every day. “But you should retire Madame Hagberg--she’s far too old and keeps confusing me for a princess. My voice isn’t _that_ high…” 

“Well,” Burt says. It’s not the segue he’d wished for, but it’s the one he’s got. “You won’t have to worry about Madame Hagberg anymore, Kurt. You’re going somewhere.” 

Kurt’s eyes light up. “Where?” 

Burt feels guilt creep into his stomach, but he ignores it. “You’re going to a new keep. I’m sure you’ve heard--sometimes princesses are given their own castle, with--” 

“With a dragon,” Kurt finishes. “But I am not a princess.” 

“No, but you are the most precious person in this kingdom,” Burt says. “And you need to be protected in ways the guards cannot.” 

“Is this about Mom?” Kurt asks, growing indignant. “I won’t die, Dad, please don’t send me away--” 

“Kurt, you’ll love your new home, I promise,” Burt says. “You’ll have your own dragon to watch over you, to teach you all the centuries of knowledge he has. You’ll grow with the finest education and any luxury you desire. And no one will touch you, you hear me? You’ll be safe.” 

Kurt has begun to cry. “But Daddy--” 

“I’m sorry you’re sad,” Burt says. “But this is for the best. Kurt, I can’t give you the life you deserve here and now. It’s not unheard of for princes and princesses alike to be fostered--think of it that way. I’ll still come and visit you, and you’ll have the best tutor I can give you. You’ll need to pack your things, and you can request anything you wish--nothing will be denied you now. You leave by week’s end.” 

Kurt stands, and his eyes are cold as he stares down at his father. “Fine.” 

He whirls away. Burt can only watch him go in silence, for he knows his son and he knows that nothing will comfort him just yet. Kurt is a stubborn boy, willful and stunningly intelligent for his age, and so sure of himself. Not much sways him, least of all Burt--and Burt has felt the separation between them, the distance, growing wider since the death of Kurt’s mother. Burt loves his son fiercely still, but Kurt is a different creature than Burt. He likes finer things, clothes and balls and fairytales. Burt had hoped that last would have made this easier, but perhaps Burt overlooked the fact that when a princess--or a prince, in this case--is sent away, that’s not the happy part of the story. 

He hopes Kurt realizes that this is all for the hope of a happy ending.


	2. Chapter 2

The dragon’s keep is foreboding, to say the least. Young Kurt looks up at its towers with awe--his father’s palace is a modern structure, only four floors and designed like a house made massive rather than a traditional castle. But this is a true _castle_ \--spires and battlements and great walls and a moat with a drawbridge across. And inside--inside is a _dragon._

Kurt wonders how big he’ll be. Dragons are supposed to be massive. How will Kurt even talk to him? Do dragons talk? Will he teach Kurt from atop a hoard of treasure? Maybe he’ll let Kurt have a tiara or two-- 

“This is as far as we can go, your highness,” his guard says. “The bridge is down for only you. No one else may enter.” 

“No one?” Kurt asks. His tears, so close to the surface since his father’s announcement, since his mother’s death, even--they surface again, and Kurt feels afraid. He wishes he knew someone here--even in the palace he was friendly with a few of the staff’s children, but no one here. And now those few can’t even visit? And what about-- “Not even my father?” 

“Your father will visit, child,” the guard says gently, smiling sadly. “And I’m sure there will be servants. But no, no one else may enter. This castle is yours alone until your sixteenth birthday.” 

Kurt takes a deep breath and nods, holding back the tears as best he can. He’ll be lord of his own castle--that should make him happy, shouldn’t it? But he’s just scared--he wants his mother like he hasn’t since she first passed, and it aches in his chest. 

“Go on,” the guard urges, and he sets Kurt’s bags down at his feet. “We’ll wait out here for a servant to fetch the rest of your things.” 

Kurt lifts the two bags in his hands. They’re heavy, but he does his best to hold them up, and he starts walking across the bridge with a measured step. It echoes in the moat below, _clack clack clack_ , the low heels of his fine boots, and he wonders if there are beasts in the moat that will eat him if he falls. He makes it across safely, however, and as he approaches the great doors at the front, they swing ponderously open, beckoning him into the dimness within. 

The servants that open the doors close them behind him, and they boom as they shut. This is his welcome--the servants hurry away once they’ve completed their task, and Kurt is left to look ahead through the great entry hall, with its winding staircases on either side, its great crystal chandelier above, its hallways off to the left and right and, straight ahead, another pair of great doors, already open--calling him. 

He walks through, and is met with his very first sight of a dragon. 

He isn’t as big as Kurt expected, though he’d still fill Kurt’s bedroom back home. Twice the height of his father’s finest horses, perhaps three times as long, though it’s difficult to tell with the dragon curled up like a cat, it raises its graceful black head and looks down at Kurt with blazing golden eyes. 

“Hello,” the dragon says, in a smooth, comforting voice that is at great odds with its horns and scales and long tail and spikes along his spine, however smoothed down they may be at the moment. “You are Kurt.” 

“Yes,” Kurt says, falling back on his court training in his terror. “And--and what might I call you?” 

“My name in the dragon tongue is Brit-luft-aak-nonvul,” the dragon says, cocking its head. “But I suppose you can call me Blaine. That’s close enough.” 

“Blaine,” Kurt says, bowing his head. “Thank you for--for your protection and your guidance. I--” 

He can’t bring himself to say anything complimentary. Right now, he hates this place, with every bit of resentment his ten years can call up from within him. It feels like too much. 

“I know you are upset,” Blaine says. “And I’m sorry for that. I hope you can feel at home here, though, in time. I will do my best to make that happen. Anything you require, just ask.” 

Kurt sniffles, ashamed of his nearness to tears again, and nods. “Thank you.” 

“I’ll have one of the servants show you to your rooms, if you like. Or we can talk. What would you like, Kurt?” 

Kurt blinks for a moment before he looks up at the dragon. “I--really?” He’s a prince--there’s less freedom in that than most suppose, and usually he is given little autonomy over his daily activities. At least, until now. 

“Of course,” Blaine says. “It’s up to you.” 

Kurt looks Blaine over, really looks at him. He’s a fine creature, his black scales tinted gold and gleaming in the firelight. He’s trim and sleek, his head long and graceful over a sinuous neck. He is certainly imposing; terrifying, really. Except--he’s not. Not since he started speaking in that gentle voice. 

“Can we talk?” Kurt asks. “I’d--I’d like to know more about--about you. And about what I’m doing here,” he adds bitterly. 

“You’re here because it’s tradition to foster royalty if they don’t excel at home,” Blaine says slowly, as though pondering. “And because your father decided you needed...special protection. While you’re here I hope your life will go on as normal. You will have classes, which I will teach, and time to pursue what activities you like as well. The only difference here is that we hold no court. It--is a solitary life, but your father believes you will be better for it.” 

“And--do you agree with him?” 

Blaine huffs a warm breath that sounds like a laugh. “I am a dragon. I don’t always think like you do. I had not considered if it might be beneficial because I don’t know you yet. I’m sure we’ll be friends, though, and we can talk more about that in time.” 

“And--and you’ve done this before? With...princesses.” 

Blaine bows his head. “Yes. I’ve tutored and protected several princesses in my service to your kingdom, and kingdoms nearby.” 

“But you’re a dragon,” Kurt blurts. “In the stories--” He lets the idea fall away, unsure if he’s causing offense. 

But Blaine just laughs again. “Dragons are fierce creatures, yes, and I’m sure many have burned villages and fought against brave knights. Perhaps some even kidnapped princesses. Who am I to tell what another might do? But some of us are loyal to the kingdoms where we make our dens, whether for favor or for peace.” 

“How long have you served my father?” 

“His whole life, and longer besides,” Blaine says. “You would think I’m old, I’m sure, but for a dragon I’m still quite young.” 

Kurt doesn’t really know how to reply to this, so he says what’s on his mind instead. “Can I see my room now?” 

Blaine laughs. “Of course, my prince. Why don’t you get settled? If you need anything, I will remain here for a time before I retire to my den. Should you need anything, it’s below this room--simply take the staircase behind me down and you’ll find me.” 

Kurt nods and turns to find a servant waiting for him. She guides him back to the entry hall, up the stairs, and through four turns (right at the top of the stairs, left, left, and then right again--he remembers for later) until he’s guided up a tight, winding staircase to a room atop a tower. It’s lavish; gorgeous, really. And the view out his window is incredible. 

The servant leaves him--not unfriendly, but not particularly open or warm, and Kurt realizes he’ll find no friends among the staff here. He drops his bags, and eyes his three trunks lined up along the circular wall, beyond his bed. And there, in the center of the room, Kurt covers his face and weeps. 

\-- 

He doesn’t leave his room til the next morning. He’s interrupted from his melancholy only twice--once when a servant brings him a tray of food, and then again when three servants bring huge buckets of steaming water to fill his copper tub. He eats the food, and soaks in the hot water until he’s too tired to stay awake, and then passes out on his massive, comfortable bed until morning. 

When he goes downstairs, Blaine is not in the great hall Kurt met him in, so he must be down in his den. Kurt takes tentative steps toward the staircase, wondering-- _will_ there be a pile of gold? Are there skeletons of knights he’s feasted on? What could a dragon’s den really _be_ like? 

Behind him, the big doors open, and Kurt hears heavy steps just before he turns and sees Blaine walking in, his big claws scraping the stone floor. 

“Were you looking for me?” he asks, tilting his head and offering Kurt what he thinks is a dragon equivalent of a smile. 

Kurt, a bit embarrassed for becoming emotional yesterday during their first meeting, stands up extra straight and lifts his chin. “Yes. I am wondering when my lessons begin, and who I should talk to about requesting supplies for my free time.” 

Blaine’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Well, if you’d like to make a list for me, I’ll approve it and send a servant into town for whatever you require. As for your lessons, they start as soon as you’ve eaten breakfast.” 

Kurt wonders--just how accommodating is this man--this _dragon_? 

“And what is my first lesson, if I may?” 

“I thought we could go over what schooling you already have covered, to see what further tutoring you will need. Does that meet with your approval?” 

Kurt lifts his chin higher and nods once, crossing his arms. “Yes, I suppose that’s fine. Are we having the lesson in here?” 

“We could have it here if you wish,” Blaine says. “Or we could have it in the courtyard. There are beautiful gardens, and it is a clear day.” 

“I would like to go to the gardens, then,” Kurt says. Blaine stares at him, and Kurt realizes he might be pushing too far. “Please.” 

“Of course, my prince,” Blaine says. “I’ll have your breakfast sent out for you. Come with me.”


	3. Chapter 3

Blaine remains a kind, gentle-hearted, generous host for Kurt, as well as a capable instructor for his lessons and a fascinating companion for what free time Kurt spends with him. Three years pass slowly in this way for Kurt, but looking back, he can’t help but wonder if they weren’t faster than he remembers, especially when he thinks of Blaine, three hundred years old--he’s done this span of time a hundred times over, and he still finds joy in the world and its passage of time. Kurt can do the same, can’t he?

He’s grown quite a bit in three years. He’s gained some height, lost some of his pudge, and his body is changing shape. Strange things happen to him at night, tinglings and confusion, and he has his first bleeding. He grows stronger, as well, and starts getting hair in several places that had previously been smooth. But he still has a long way to go, and he’s hardly a teenager. He knows from his lessons that this is just the beginning, but it’s already overwhelming. 

And one day, everything changes. 

“Tomorrow, we’ll go over your lessons and rework our schedules,” Blaine says one evening, as Kurt packs his inkwell and quill and papers away in his little portable lap desk, which they’d brought out into the gardens in the cooling summer evening. “It’s time you started learning to defend yourself.” 

“But--but I have you,” Kurt says uncertainly, wondering what this means. 

“Of course,” Blaine says. “But only for another three years. After that, you need to be able to handle yourself with a sword. It’s only right for royalty to be able to handle a weapon, my prince.” 

The affectionate way Blaine says his title gives Kurt warmth in his belly, and he nods, accepting. Blaine has never led him astray so far, and Kurt trusts him implicitly. If he says it’s time to learn--well, Kurt still has questions, and Blaine has never discouraged him from asking. 

“But who will teach me?” he asks. “I don’t think you can hold a sword, and I doubt you’ve ever needed one.” 

Blaine huffs a laugh. “Don’t worry. I will indeed teach you. Why don’t we have our sword practice first thing in the morning? We’ll switch your mathematics and foreign languages to your late morning period, switching off every other day. Do you approve?” 

“If it means less math, then yes,” Kurt says, and Blaine laughs again. 

“Math is important, Kurt, as much as you detest it,” he says. “And I know you’ll be disappointed with less practice for you languages, but you will be expected to continue practicing in your own time for both subjects.” Kurt has ample time in the evenings, and Blaine has made sure he spends at least two hours every night on what he learned in his lessons that day before he’s allowed to divert himself with his hobbies. 

“Yes, Blaine,” Kurt says, standing and lifting his desk. “Will I see you at supper?” 

Blaine sometimes joins him for the evening meal, though Kurt has never seen Blaine eat--he goes out in the very early hours of the morning and during Kurt’s study hours to hunt and eat then. But Blaine likes to sit with Kurt and talk to him, no doubt sensing Kurt’s loneliness that seems to increase with every day. 

But tonight it’s not so. “No, I have other matters to attend. I’ll see you tomorrow morning--if you’d meet me here in the gardens?” 

“Okay,” Kurt says, and then he bows and retreats, leaving Blaine to himself in the gardens. 

\-- 

The next morning, Kurt wakes late from fuzzy, half-formed dreams that he can hardly remember. All he can recall is something about skin, and the feeling of its warmth against him. He woke with a strong tingling between his legs, and uncomfortable wetness. He peeks below the sheets--did he wet himself? Oh, gods, how _embarrassing_ , how did it even happen-- 

He cleans himself off quickly, noting that it’s definitely _not_ urine before quickly throwing some comfortable clothes on and rushing down to the gardens. 

Blaine is nowhere to be seen, but there’s a man standing with his back to Kurt. Kurt instantly feels afraid--no one is supposed to come in, right? Blaine said he’d be teaching Kurt, so who is this? It feels wrong, what-- 

“There you are,” the man says, turning around--in Blaine’s voice. And as Kurt meets his eyes, he realizes that they are the same eyes as well. 

This man--this man is Blaine. 

“Blaine?” Kurt asks, stepping back just in case. 

“It’s me,” Blaine says, and Kurt looks him over. Black curls on his head, and--yes, two conical, sharp horns, just barely peeking out from underneath his hair. He’s golden-skinned, golden-eyed, and--and _beautiful._ Kurt’s never seen someone so beautiful, everything about him, from his eyes to his plush lips to his wide shoulders and trim waist and--gods, there’s that feeling again, heat and tingling below, accompanied by a deep, panicky warmth in his chest. 

Any idea of what to say has fled Kurt’s mind once he’s done looking Blaine over, though he could frankly continue doing it all day and not be tired of it. But he has to focus. Blaine’s about to hand him a _sword_ for gods’ sakes. 

“How?” he blurts, finally landing on a single thought, and Blaine smiles a wide, stunning smile, suffusing his face with utter joy. 

“Dragons have magic,” Blaine says, shrugging lightly. “I can’t do it too often, for it drains me without a bond to anchor me. But--” 

“A bond?” 

Blaine blinks, and _blushes._ “Ah. A--a dragon forms a bond with the person whom we choose to be our riders. Almost always a lover.” 

“But you’re not bonded?” Kurt asks, and wings flutter in his stomach. 

“No, not yet,” Blaine says. “I’ve not found anyone compatible yet.” Kurt aches to ask more questions, but Blaine clears his throat. “So therefore I have to rely on my own magic, and I think once a week I’ll join you like this to train you. The rest of the time I’ll be in my usual form, and I’ll have you doing solitary work on your form. We’ll have training implements then, but for now--all you’ll need is this.” 

Blaine picks up a sheathed sword from the stone table nearby and holds it out to Kurt. It’s intimidating, but Kurt walks up and takes it, careful not to touch Blaine’s hand when he does, convinced, somewhere deep inside him, that it will somehow burn him. 

“Now here--we attach it to your belt,” Blaine says, and he moves his hands down. 

Kurt jumps when Blaine’s hand is on his hip, and Blaine blinks and steps back. “Are you all right?” 

“Yes, I’m fine,” Kurt says, his voice too high, cracking on the final word. He clears his throat. “I’m okay. You just surprised me.” 

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Blaine asks, weight behind his words. 

“Of course,” Kurt says. “Now, you can show me how to tie on this infernal thing.” 

Blaine hums a little laugh, and shows Kurt how to tie the sheath onto his belt, his fingers brushing Kurt’s hip time and time again like the lighting of butterflies, small and beautiful but gone just as quickly. 

“There,” Blaine says when he’s done, stepping away. “Now. Draw the sword.” 

Kurt does as he’s told. The sword is heavier than he expected, and he struggles to hold it up. “This is--did you give me a weighted sword?” 

“You’re not ready to fight with a real sword yet,” Blaine says. “So you’re actually fighting with a blunt-edged blade. I really can’t say if there’s a difference in weight.” 

His smirk tells Kurt that yes, the blade is weighted. So Kurt does his best to hold it up steadily--he’ll show Blaine that he can’t be thrown off _that_ easily, not a chance. 

“So can I hit you now?” Kurt asks. 

Blaine laughs. It’s so different from his huffy dragon laugh. It’s _squeaky_ and raw-throated and adorable, and Kurt finds himself blushing heavily and entirely outside of his control, gods _dammit_ \-- 

“You can certainly try, Kurt,” Blaine says, challenging Kurt with his own sword drawing from its sheath, holding it steady. “Why don’t you go ahead and do that now.” 

Kurt’s forearm is already burning from holding the sword up, but he ignores it as he rushes forward and swings wildly at Blaine. Who, of course, blocks every single one and then flicks his sword up and stops Kurt short with its tip at his throat. 

“Why don’t we start with what you did wrong?” Blaine asks, his eyebrows lowering over his playfully narrowed eyes. It makes his whole face look so much… _darker._

Oh, Kurt’s in so much trouble. 

\-- 

Kurt drops onto his bed as soon as he can. Blaine had worked him hard, putting him through his paces and training him most of the morning. And he still had to go to his next lesson, which saw Blaine returned to his dragon form and Kurt in a form that could hardly hold its pen up for being so tired. Yet they’d spoken no more about the training. Still, Kurt knew that more was to come tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that--and Kurt can’t imagine lifting a _finger_ now. 

He manages to lift himself completely, however, when the servants come in to fill his tub. Hot water is what he really needs. So he strips down and climbs into the tub, sinking down into the water with a pained hiss. 

He lays there a long while, soaking, breathing slowly and relaxing. The hot water does wonders to seep the tension from his aching muscles, easing the soreness at least a little bit. 

His mind, however, does not ease. It only grows restless as he remembers that morning--the way Blaine’s muscles had gleamed when he’d shown Kurt how a swordsman should be able to move, or the way his hair fell in ringlets over his forehead, brushing his heavy eyebrows and almost _pointing_ down to his beautiful eyes. Kurt’s never seen eyes like that--so warm and bright and big and-- 

And _completely_ inappropriate to be thinking about. Kurt should be imagining his prince coming to save him, sweeping him away from here and back to his home-- 

But. This _is_ his home. It has been for three years. And Blaine has been here for him--a teacher, a mentor, even a confidante when Kurt felt vulnerable and capable of sharing anything about himself, about what he missed from home when he was feeling melancholy. And it’s Blaine who, every time that happened, went on to do whatever he could to make Kurt feel more at home. He glances across his bedroom at the harp Blaine had gotten for him when he said he missed playing with his mother not long after he arrived here. And he’s given Kurt plenty more besides--lavish gifts of expensive fabrics and sheet music and books and anything that Kurt fancies to be of his interest. 

Blaine is his friend. Blaine is kind and sweet and warm and intelligent and caring, everything Kurt has ever learned could not be a dragon. No, Blaine is like a knight of the tales his mother used to tell. But Blaine is not a knight, even if he can look the part when he’s in his human form. 

Even if he were, Kurt’s not destined for a knight. He’s destined for a _prince._ A prince to come here and sweep him off his feet, only a _prince_ can _rescue_ him-- 

“But I _am_ a prince,” Kurt says aloud, feeling silly immediately afterwards and looking around to ensure solitude. He draws his knees up to his chest and holds them, resting his chin on them and pouting. Does he even want a prince to rescue him? Why can’t the poor sod just come live with him here? Why does Kurt need rescuing? 

Kurt decides to bring it up with Blaine the next day. And thus his thoughts drift back to Blaine, how handsome and good he is, how surprising his human form, and Kurt’s body reacts. He grows flushed and warm and feels a deep tingling ache that confuses him. So he grabs his washcloth and bar of soap and lathers the cloth up before running it over himself, wiping away lingering grime from the morning’s practice, hoping it will keep his mind occupied and soothe whatever is wrong with his body. 

But the ache persists, and Kurt has to wash himself. He brings the washcloth down and scrubs between his legs gently, fingers brushing the new, thickening hair growing down there, spreading like weeds across the little area below his belly and down around his privates. 

And this is where the ache is. He touches, wondering. He knows the basic use of these parts, of course--he has been educated a bit, and he knows where babies come from and how they are made. But he feels like he’s missing something. Is he aching for a baby? Is that what the tingles at night are, and the wetness? He usually feels it when thinking about Blaine, or when he has dreams of skin and being held--does he want someone, Blaine, to hold him, give him a baby? He doesn’t even really want a baby, but this did start around the time his bleeding started. 

He simply doesn’t know, and he’s always been vaguely nervous of touching too much down there anyway, so--perhaps it’s best to research the topic on his own, or ask Blaine. 

Research on his own, definitely. He’s not sure he could stomach asking Blaine about this. 

\-- 

The next day, Kurt seeks Blaine after his dinner. 

“He’s out in the fields,” one servant informs him. “He should return after his supper.” 

Kurt doesn’t want to _wait_ , though. He’ll lose his nerve. He has to see Blaine as soon as possible. And...well, no one is paying attention to him right now. 

He slips out through the gardens, taking the small back service bridge over the moat at a run so as not to be in sight on it for long. And then he takes to the grand flowered fields, eyes cast skyward as he wanders through the tall grass. 

He spots Blaine just as he hikes over the first hill. He’s in the sky, lightly circling for several moments before he suddenly dives. He snatches some kind of animal--Kurt can’t see at this distance--and then flies toward the rear of the castle. 

Kurt decides to go for it. He raises an arm and waves to Blaine, trying to catch his attention. And Blaine must see--he corrects his course to where Kurt is standing, dropping to the ground with the bloody carcass of a stag in his claws. 

“Kurt,” Blaine says. “What are you doing out here?” 

“I came to talk to you--” 

“It’s not safe out here,” Blaine says. “Return to the castle.” 

Kurt hesitates. He’s never heard Blaine this--this _stern_. He’s never heard him _growl._

“Kurt,” Blaine says, louder, baring his teeth. “Return _now_. We’ll speak when I return.” 

Kurt cringes away. He’s never--gods, his entire body tries to make itself smaller, his heart races and his spine screams at him to run. For the first time, Blaine looks like the beast he really is. Is it--is it because he interrupted a meal? Is Blaine closer to being a real dragon now, closer to his vicious nature? He’s a hunter, a winged warrior, and Kurt interrupted him right after a kill. Of course he’s angry, Kurt is so _stupid._

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says. “I’ll--I’ll go--” 

He turns tail and rushes back to the castle. 

\-- 

He finds himself in the library--if he can’t talk to Blaine, he has to find answers _somehow._ However, he cannot manage to find any texts in the library--he has no idea where to look besides in the sciences, looking for anatomy, and then it does not cover anything but what the area is called and its use in childbearing. And Kurt doesn’t see anything about aching or tingling there. 

The great doors into the library creak, and Kurt glances back to see Blaine entering the library, his steps shaking the shelves. 

“There you are,” he says. “Kurt, you can’t leave the castle grounds like that again--” 

Kurt flinches. Blaine isn’t growling this time, but Kurt can’t help but remember. “I’m sorry.” 

Blaine sighs. “I’m sorry if I scared you.” 

“It’s--” Kurt clears his throat. “No, it’s fine. I’m sorry I interrupted your meal.” 

Blaine cocks his head. “You--Kurt, I’m not angry about an interrupted meal. I was worried for your safety.” 

Kurt feels embarrassed and clears his throat again. “Oh.” 

“Please do not leave without an escort again,” Blaine says. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t leave at all, but if you need to talk to me, at least bring one of the servants.” 

“Yes. Okay.” 

“So...what did you need?” 

Kurt blinks. He feels his cheeks heat. “Um.” 

Blaine tilts his head and looks down at Kurt. “Kurt? What’s wrong?” 

He’s either going to have to drop it, or ask. And his stomach twists up in knots when he thinks of asking directly. But he does have something else to ask. 

“Can I sit?” Kurt asks nervously. Blaine nods and steps back, allowing Kurt to pass by him to one of the armchairs in the open center of the room. Kurt sits, and Blaine lies down before him, settling easily down and folding his great claws before him, looking down at Kurt curiously. 

“You can talk to me, Kurt,” he says softly, and Kurt nods. He might as well ask at least one thing that’s been on his mind. 

“Why--” He pauses, unsure of how to say it. “How come I have to be saved by a prince?” 

Blaine blinks at him. “What do you mean?” 

Kurt sighs deeply. “I guess--I don’t know why a prince has to save me. Why can’t I just go home when I’m old enough? Or--or stay here? I guess--I guess I just don’t see why I need to be rescued,” he finishes, a touch of bitterness wending its way into his voice. 

Blaine’s eyes crinkle and warm, and his mouth curls just a bit--a dragon version of a smile. “Your father is following tradition by sending a prince for you. Think of it as the beginning of your courtship--a suitable prince comes to escort you home. He’s not actually saving you from anything, of course; you’re in no danger while you’re here with me.” 

“Exactly,” Kurt says. “Why can’t I just stay here?” 

“Because you have a kingdom to rule,” Blaine says. “You’re the heir to your father’s throne. You have to return eventually and marry so that you can inherit the kingdom.” 

“But why do I have to be married?” Kurt asks. “Not that I don’t want to be married, but--why can’t I pick who? I just have to put up with the first moron my father sends over?” 

Blaine laughs. “Kurt--” 

“It’s just unfair,” Kurt says. “I want the romantic fairytale, but--I want to pick my own.” 

Blaine lowers his head and touches his snout to Kurt’s hair, blowing warm air over him--a gesture Kurt has only received a few times, Blaine’s way of affectionately ruffling his hair. “If I could decide, Kurt, I’d let you choose whomever you wished. But it’s up to your father in the end. Maybe you should ask him the next time he visits.” 

Burt visits on Kurt’s birthday and on the winter solstice. They’re about halfway between the two now, and Kurt’s not satisfied with waiting. “Why don’t you ask him in your next report to him?” 

“I could do that,” Blaine says. “Is there anything else you need from him in the meantime? Or from me?” 

Here’s Kurt’s only chance to learn. He--gods, he could die of embarrassment, but he has to know somehow. “Um. Are there--are there any books on...on my particular...anatomy?” 

Blaine blinks, eyes widened in surprise, before nodding. “I could certainly find something for you. Is there anything wrong, Kurt? Anything you need to ask?” 

“Nothing’s wrong,” Kurt says, hedging. “I just have questions about...about gender, I guess.” 

“Well, why don’t we go over the basics?” Blaine suggests. “You know you’re a carrier--you’re male, but you carry the sexual organs of a female. And a female carrier carries the organs of a male. And then there’s reborns, who are born one gender and find themselves identifying with another. And Others, who don’t fall within the bounds of male or female. Yes?” 

“I know that part,” Kurt says. 

“So--do you have something specific to ask?” 

“No,” Kurt squeaks, automatically and out of sheer embarrassment. “I just--um--” 

There’s a long, painfully awkward moment in which Kurt cannot find words. Thankfully, Blaine--kind, attentive Blaine--notices his predicament and saves him. 

“I have an idea,” Blaine says. “Why don’t I ask around and see if there’s another carrier you could speak with? I’ll ask your father if we can hire someone, and perhaps he would have more answers for you.” 

Kurt sags with relief. Why he should feel more comfortable with a stranger, he doesn’t know, but he doesn’t particularly care at this moment. “That would be good. Thank you.” 

“Is there anything else on your mind, Kurt?” 

Kurt looks up. He wishes Blaine were in his human form right now--sometimes he feels so small around Blaine. So foolish and young-- 

“No,” Kurt says. “I’m good.” 

Blaine touches the top of Kurt’s head with his snout. 

“Courage, my prince.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains an explicit sexual situation (masturbation) involving a minor (thirteen years old). If that bothers you, and you still want to read, contact me for a summary of the chapter.

Elliott is the nephew of one of the maids, aged fifteen and not a carrier, but a reborn, one of those who finds the gender they were given at birth unsuitable. Armed with only the knowledge that this boy has transitioned almost entirely, but nothing else about him, Kurt waits for him in the gardens five days later, wringing his hands and pacing.

“Prince Kurt?” 

Kurt stops wringing his hands and faces the stranger--Elliott himself, presumably. He’s--he’s gorgeous, apparently some kind of early bloomer or has amazing potions for his transition because he’s well built and tall and Kurt can’t see a bit of baby fat on him, which brings a blush to Kurt’s still-pudgy cheeks. Is this what Kurt will look like in two years? 

“Yes,” Kurt says, holding out his hand to shake. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

Elliott smiles and looks him up and down in a way that makes Kurt uncomfortable. “You’re so cute,” he says. “My aunt didn’t tell me.” 

“Oh, I--maybe she hasn’t seen me,” Kurt says nervously. “I don’t really interact with the staff much.” Elliott raises an eyebrow, and Kurt babbles on, “Not because I don’t want to. I’m just--busy, with my studies, with--with Blaine--” 

“The dragon, right?” Elliott asks, sitting down at the table. Kurt sits across from him. “So a dragon wants me to teach you about your body. About what our bodies _share_ ,” he adds with a smirk. 

Kurt grimaces. “That sounds awkward.” 

Elliott nods. “Yeah, kinda.” 

“Look,” Kurt says. “I’m just...confused. I’ve never had anyone to really teach me other than _this is where the babies come from_ , and that’s--that’s not really very helpful right now.” 

“Well, what _would_ be helpful, then?” Elliott asks, crossing his legs and lacing his hands around his knee, tilting his head as he studies Kurt. “What’s on your mind about your _anatomy_?” 

Kurt pushes down the embarrassment, raises his chin, and tries to look as cool and in control as possible, mirroring Elliott’s posture. “I--I find myself--um. _Tingling._ ” 

Elliott bursts out laughing. “Wait, wait. Let me guess. It gets warm, and wet? Probably a lot at night? Gods, I thought this was going to be _complicated_ \--” 

“Yes,” Kurt says, rocking upright in his chair, dropping his airs and eagerly leaning in. “Yes, exactly.” 

Elliott smiles, a little kinder this time. “That’s totally normal, Kurt. You’re getting older, you’re going to be--feeling things--” 

“But why?” Kurt asks. “What does it mean?” 

“It means you’re aroused,” Elliott says. “Your body is telling you it wants sex.” 

“To make a baby?” 

“Not necessarily,” Elliott says, smiling mischievously. “Sex isn’t just for making babies, Kurt.” 

“Then what?” 

“It feels good! You seriously don’t know?” 

Kurt bites his lips and tries not to feel ashamed, but it’s a difficult battle with Elliott staring at him, confused. 

“You’re just--so sheltered, my gods,” Elliott says. “Look, it’s not a big deal. You don’t even have to have sex, okay? You can--you can ignore it. Or...you can take care of it yourself.” 

Kurt blinks. “How?” 

“Touch yourself,” Elliott says. “Use your fingers. Just--touch, explore, figure out what feels good. Touch inside, touch outside. There are a few spots that are pretty fun to play with, just--go easy at first, and then...speed up. You can touch any way you want. Just...have fun, okay? Think about someone who makes you feel that arousal.” 

“O-okay,” Kurt says. “Um. Do you know...anything else?” 

Elliott grins. “Oh, I do. But how much am I allowed to corrupt the young prince, hm?” 

His eyes are dark and shining, and he looks Kurt up and down even more slowly than before, making Kurt flush. 

“Tell me everything,” Kurt says. “I want to know.” 

Elliott shrugs. “Okay.” 

\-- 

Kurt is left reeling with information he never thought he’d ever know. How could he have imagined? There’s so much about himself, about the _world_ that he now knows, that he can think about _experiencing_ even though it makes him very nervous and he’d rather think about just kissing his prince or something-- 

Oh, gods. But he’ll probably do that one day. His body is telling him he wants to now. His body--his body is wrong, though. Kurt--Kurt doesn’t think he could do any of the things Elliott described in rather alarming detail. He--his hands and--and mouths and--gods, the things Elliott talked about, fingers and _items_ and--and people of all genders, he hadn’t even stuck with carriers, he’d gone on to describe men together and women together and both and neither and-- 

Kurt deliberately does not think about it that night. No. He shouldn’t. He can’t. Someone will _know._

But the next morning is sword practice with Blaine in his human form, and Kurt is not quite as strong as he first supposes. Blaine is all-- _muscle_ , and _sweat_. He smells like a man, moves like a man, walks and talks and smiles like a man, and Kurt is _very_ much attracted to men. And now that Kurt _knows_ what can happen between two people--especially between a carrier and a male, for Elliott had been particularly explicit in that regard--he finds himself imagining _Blaine_. 

What if--what if Blaine kissed him? What if Blaine did--did _some_ of the things Elliott talked abo ut? The nicer things, the _romantic_ things. The sweet touches and the simple joys of two bodies joining. Elliott had answered Kurt’s questions about those too; he’d shrugged, as though it was unimportant. Well...that’s what Kurt wants. 

And it’s what Kurt cannot stop thinking about when he should be focusing on not getting skewered by his teacher. 

“Kurt, come on,” Blaine says. “Your head is somewhere else. What’s going on?” 

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says, quickly searching for a lie in his head. “I just--didn’t get much sleep last night.” 

Not the best lie, but the one he settled on. Now he has to commit to it, even though it puts a sad little look on Blaine’s face. 

“Are you ill?” Blaine asks. “Or is there something on your mind?” 

“Just--just had a bad dream. I can’t even remember it now,” Kurt says, shrugging it off and laughing as though it’s nothing. “But I’ll keep my head from now on--I promise.” 

And he does--mostly. Blaine’s still a much better swordsman than Kurt, which peeves Kurt--the man has claws, for gods’ sake, why should he ever need a sword? 

Kurt will just have to do better. 

\-- 

That night, as Kurt washes in the tub, as he starts to clean his intimate places, he thinks again of all that Elliott said. He thinks of how this body is _his_ , and he can use it to feel good if he wants to. Elliott had talked about all the great things about--about _masturbating_. Could Kurt maybe...try? 

He gets out of the bath and dries himself, taking his time and feeling how good the soft towel is on his skin. He’s not sure of his body, though--he’s weirdly shaped and hasn’t quite hit a growth spurt yet, so he’s awkward and small and still a little chubby with baby fat. And he freckles so easily, they dot his face and shoulders heavily. And his hair is growing in weird places now, in his armpits and heavier on his legs and he’s got a funny little bunch just under his belly button, and he just hopes it’ll all look better when it’s done doing what it needs to do. He hopes his body will be better someday, better for someone to want, for Kurt to feel comfortable with. 

But he’s got this body right now, and he’s going to touch it. So he lays out on his bed without putting on his night clothes and puts his hands on his belly, to start. And he thinks. 

He closes his eyes, and behind them he sees Blaine. Blaine’s strong hands, Blaine’s shoulders and arms, holding Kurt close. Blaine’s lips, kissing him softly. Kurt wonders how Blaine might kiss--how to kiss at all, really, he’s never done it himself, and--maybe he should practice? Kiss the crook of his elbow like the girls back home used to do? He could--he could learn that way too, he should try that. So he lifts his arm over his face and purses his lips, imagining someone else’s lips against them when he presses into his arm and then moves his lips like he’s seen others do. It’s strange, and it tastes like soap, and it’s not quite what Kurt thinks lips would feel like, but he gets lost in it, sticking his tongue out and trying to see how it would fit, moving his jaw and lips, trying everything. 

It works to get him worked up. When he does it, and imagines Blaine lying over him, he instantly flushes and the tingles start up, and he feels too warm and squirmy, and he has to move his legs. He presses them together at the tops of his thighs, rubbing the insides together, and the tingles settle into an ache that flares with each movement. Kurt gasps, and drops his arm to breathe as he slips his hand down between. 

It’s weird. It’s mostly just slick and strange, folds of skin and moisture that keeps coming as Kurt clings to the idea of Blaine over him, kissing him. He slides one finger inside, but it just feels weird, so he pulls it back out and works on the outside, seeking some kind of sign that he’s touched the right spot. 

He finds it after a few minutes--a deep throbbing surge of pleasure when he presses down from the top, just above a little nub that almost stings when he touches it--his _clit_ , he remembers Elliott saying. But touching it from the top seems nice, so Kurt presses down again, and again, and again, and--and--oh, gods, it feels good, it feels--it feels like too much, but he keeps touching and it feels like it’s growing inside him, warming and buzzing and his arm _burns_ but he can’t stop, he keeps moving, switching to moving in circles and then _spasming_ against his hand, oh it feels--it feels-- 

It doesn’t quite explode in him, but it sort of--levels out and then fades, like it all packed in too tight and then leaked out, and Kurt breathes too hard and moans too loud as he rides out the feeling, mouth hanging open as he comes down, fingers soothing over himself, dropping down to feel--gods, he’s so _wet_ , but he’s unsatisfied somehow, like there should have been more, should have been something _different._

He gets up and slinks to the bath, cupping some water into his hand to wash himself off down there, toweling very delicately dry before slipping into bed just as naked as he is and then yawning himself to sleep. 

Well, even if it wasn’t what he expected, Elliott was right. That was fun. 

\-- 

The next morning, Kurt expects to feel different. He sort of does--he feels looser and more relaxed in his body, but he feels like he should be walking differently or something. Doesn’t a change like this have some sort of sign? Shouldn’t his burgeoning sexuality reflect in him somehow? He should be--glowing, or something. Right? 

But nobody notices. The servants just smile as usual, and Blaine--the person Kurt wants most in the world to notice him--doesn’t react at all. Kurt is still just Kurt. 

Well, maybe not, then. Maybe he’ll just have to wait until he falls in love to walk around with a glow on his cheeks. Maybe he’ll have to wait for a fairytale--his own fairytale, whatever that might be. 

Kurt will wait for it. In the meantime… _Courage, my prince._ He’ll have to remember that, and hope.


	5. Chapter 5

Kurt’s room is in a state of disaster. Clothes are strewn about--on his bed, on the backs of chairs, over his tables--and Kurt is in the midst, breeches and boots on but nothing on top, staring in the mirror petulantly.

“Nothing fits!” he says, throwing down yet another jerkin that he’s grown out of. It’s dramatic of him--it’s only the fifth that he’s lost to his growth spurts, but it was his favorite, and he’d intended to wear it to sword practice with Blaine. He looks _good_ in it--or he _did_. And it’s important to look good. Especially--well. He likes to look good for Blaine. There’s nothing _wrong_ with that. 

He examines his shirtless form in the mirror. He’s shot up at least three inches, and he’s lost most of his baby fat. Sword practice helps, of course--he’s a diligent student and quite accomplished for his age, and while he hasn’t had to use his skills for real yet, they’ve given him the benefit of a toned body. He’s a bit stretched-looking, but his belly is flat and his arms and shoulders are nicely defined, though remnants of fat stick to his cheeks and make him look younger than the fifteen years he’ll be turning the next day. 

He’ll just have to ask Blaine for more fabric as a gift, so he can make himself new outfits. Or maybe he can ask his father for permission to fetch a real tailor, someone who can make beautiful clothing _for_ him. He can always ask when the king arrives tomorrow. 

He smiles at the thought, and then notices the time--Blaine will be waiting already in the gardens. Kurt throws on his shirt and picks the first jerkin he has, which of course is just a bit too small, tugging it over his head as he rushes out the door. 

When he arrives, Blaine is indeed waiting, but at least he’s clothed and presentable. He has no idea how he _looks_ , of course, having denied himself his mirror to rush down. 

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says. “I couldn’t find anything that fits. I’m going to need some more fabric, I’m growing out of everything--” 

He tugs self-consciously at his jerkin, and then looks up to see why Blaine isn’t answering. 

Blaine is _looking_ at him. _Really_ looking. His eyes are roving over Kurt’s body like--like he’s _looking_. Blaine looks at him, of course--sees him, who he really is, and Kurt loves him for it--but he’s never _looked_ like this. Like he sees more than what’s on the _inside._

And he doesn’t look displeased. 

“Blaine?” Kurt says, fidgeting. He’s dreamed of Blaine looking at him like this, like--like he _likes_ what he sees, but--gods, it’s nerve-wracking. Does he like it? Why is he looking like this? 

Blaine looks up at Kurt, meeting his eyes, and he smiles. It’s not the smile of a mentor or a teacher. Kurt’s only seen it once before and it was on Elliott’s face--it’s the smile of a _man._

“You’ve grown up.” 

Kurt preens, surprised. “Well. I _am_ fifteen tomorrow.” 

“Mm. You look it,” Blaine says, and his smile goes-- _teasing_ , almost. “I’d better be careful. If word gets out, I might have to fight off princes earlier than expected.” 

There’s no doubt. Blaine _looked_ at him, and he liked what he saw. Oh, gods, but--the blush rises too fast, and Kurt feels light headed; is this really happening? What on earth is he supposed to say to that? 

_Quick. Think of something._

“Well, don’t lock me away,” Kurt says, going for smooth and sophisticated wit, tilting his shoulder and putting his hands on his hips. “It would be a shame to deny them the chance.” 

Blaine laughs. _Success._

“Maybe we’ll pass the rumor on, then,” Blaine says, “if you’re so eager to see me burning eager young men’s rumps.” 

Kurt’s heart flutters. Are they _flirting?_

Before he has a chance to figure it out, Blaine draws his sword. He smirks. “We’d better see if you have what it takes to fight them off yourself, though. I wouldn’t want you to miss the action.” 

Kurt draws his own sword, and almost before he’s ready, Blaine is on him. Kurt loses himself to the clash of metal on metal--he can think about flirting later. For now, he has another kind of dance to do. 

\-- 

Kurt hardly sleeps that night. First it’s from a particular kind of agitation--he and Blaine had fought hard that morning, and ended up shedding their layers to continue in the hot sunlight, and they’d both been shirtless and sweating by the end. Blaine had smiled at him, and then looked him over again, and Kurt had nearly tripped over himself when he left, he was so flustered. He goes through the day in a haze, and when he finally has a moment to himself that night, he touches himself over and over and over, unable to satisfy the ache no matter how many times he comes. The idea that Blaine might be thinking of him--might have really appreciated what he saw--it’s too much, and by the time he gives up on coming anymore, his arm aches like it’s been torn apart and he’s soaked himself to his thighs. 

Then, it’s just anxiety. His father is coming the next day, and Kurt is determined to change his father’s mind about his policy on Kurt’s “rescue.” He and Blaine had sent their pleas to come up with another option, but Burt had remained firm, and Kurt had never figured out how to approach him about it during his other visits. But this time is different--Kurt knows what he wants now, he knows _who_ he wants, and he wants the freedom to choose that person. 

When he does finally fall asleep, it’s to strange and disturbing dreams of being trapped and locked away, kept from Blaine and all that he knows of his life. They leave him feeling out of sorts the next morning, which will never do. His father is due any moment, and he finds himself staring in the mirror again, aching to see himself looking older. 

He grabs the pot of pomade he uses to keep his hair neat, and contemplates. He’s not a boy anymore--he should consider changing things up. Instead of sweeping his hair to the side, perhaps he should sweep it up? Straight down? No, not down, it’ll have to be up. Reveal his face now--it’s not really angular like he wants it, but it’s better than the last time Burt saw him, and maybe showing it off will show confidence. 

Kurt sweeps his fingers into the pot and gathers up some of the waxy substance. And then he warms it in his hand and runs his fingers through his hair, sweeping it upwards instead of the side like he usually does. 

The effect is immediate--his face instantly looks longer, and his brow looks stronger. And somehow, his cheeks look a little narrower--perhaps the lines of it are casting an illusion, like some of jerkins increase the breadth of his shoulders and his pants lengthen the line of his legs. He smiles at himself--he looks like a young man, now, not a child. He’s entirely pleased. 

Pushing away all negative feelings, he finishes the details of his outfit and checks himself one more time. Satisfied, he heads out of his room and down to the great hall. 

Blaine is seated formally within--up on his haunches, graceful front legs straight, his great claws holding himself up. He’s so _tall_ like this, so far away with his neck arched up, showing off his full, imposing size. Kurt’s never gotten used to Blaine sitting like this--he prefers his dragon to lie on the ground like he usually does, so he’s in reach, eyes right there for Kurt to look into. 

He takes up his place next to Blaine, and then suddenly feels breath on the back of his neck. He jumps, and looks back--Blaine has nudged his shoulder, bending down before straightening back up. 

“You look stunning, Kurt,” he says sincerely, giving him a dragon-smile with his eyes and a crinkle of his lips. 

Kurt beams. “Well. I did try.” 

“You needn’t try at all.” 

Kurt’s heart hammers, and he wants so badly to reach out to touch Blaine, but just then the servants open the doors and in strides Burt. 

His father greets him with a huge embrace. 

“Kurt, oh--Kurt,” he says, voice sounding thick. “Gods, you look like a man.” 

“I am a man,” Kurt says, and Burt laughs. 

“Well you look like you grew up real good, kid,” Burt says in his informal way. Then he looks up at Blaine. “Geez. What are you doing all the way up there? Feel like I have to holler just to get your attention.” 

Blaine settles down into a casual curl, like the first time Kurt met him. “Better, Majesty?” 

“Not really,” Burt says, but he’s smiling and clapping Kurt on the shoulder. “So. Let’s have something to eat, catch up.” 

\-- 

“--and his sword practices are going rather well,” Blaine says, now lying in the gardens while Kurt and Burt finish their suppers. “He’s extremely accomplished.” 

Burt nods over at Kurt. “Wouldn’t’ve thought you’d like it. You usually like to play with--y’know, other stuff--” 

“Well, I’m a man of many talents,” Kurt says dismissively. He’s feeling touchy, nervous, knowing the discussion that has to come. 

“You certainly are,” Burt says. “I’m real proud of you.” 

“Thanks, Dad.” 

Now’s the time. He has to get this out. 

“Dad, could we--maybe discuss the terms of my stay here?” 

Burt’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean--” Kurt pauses carefully, considering, sighing. “Dad, I mean I don’t want a prince to come rescue me. I want to stay here.” 

“What about home, Kurt?” Burt asks. “You gotta come back someday.” 

“Well, why can’t I come back when I’ve chosen my _own_ prince?” Kurt asks. Burt sighs and rubs a hand over his face. 

“Kurt, there are no princes here,” Burt says. “They’re at court, back home.” 

“But I could hold my own court here,” Kurt insists. 

“That’s too dangerous, Kurt.” 

“How is it anymore dangerous than if I came home to court?” 

“You’ll have a lot more protection when you’re home,” Burt says. “Blaine protects you now, that’s true, and he does a damned good job of it. But he’s mostly doing that through reputation. If you hold court and they see he’s just a big softie, your life is put in danger.” 

“Blaine isn’t a big softie,” Kurt says. “Not when it comes to protecting me.” 

“Look, I’m not saying anything about Blaine’s abilities,” Burt says. “No one doubts that. But you’re out here on your own, Kurt--” 

“I have Blaine.” 

Burt stares hard at Kurt. “Kurt, what do you really want. Just tell me.” 

“I have told you,” Kurt says. “I want to hold my own court. Let the princes come here so I can pick which one I want before coming home.” 

“I’m not gonna do that, Kurt,” Burt says. He holds up a hand. “Now, listen to me. You’re being fostered here, okay? You’re here to learn and be protected and stay out of harm’s way. You’re away from court because it’s not what you need right now. You need safety above all else while you’re still in training for leadership. When you’re done, we’re going to have the best security we can afford. But you’ll be coming back to court because that’s where you’ll really learn to lead, son. And you’ll be coming back with a prince as an escort, and because that’s how you start a courtship around here. That’s just how it is.” 

“Why do I have to be courted by the prince _you_ pick?” 

“Because you’re a prince yourself, Kurt,” Burt says, like it’s obvious. “We’re royalty. We don’t always get to marry for love.” 

“You married Mom for love.” 

“Your mom was also a noblewoman, and I could,” Burt says. 

“So why don’t I get to pick which prince or nobleman _I_ want?” Kurt storms. 

“Look--you will, Kurt,” Burt says, relenting. “I’m not gonna make you marry the guy I pick if you hate him. But you have to give him a chance. It’s a great honor to be picked for that role, I’ll be getting a lot of favor depending on who I pick. Just give the guy a chance, is all I’m asking. Do you think I’d pick someone you wouldn’t like?” 

“I’m not sure,” Kurt says, angry and bitter. “I don’t really know you anymore, do I?” 

Burt’s face goes pale, and Kurt realizes he’s gone too far. 

“Kurt, I’m doing what I think is best for you,” Burt says slowly. “I’m trying to protect you. Hell, after you mother died--” 

“I know, dad--” 

“No you don’t,” Burt says. “You were just a kid. But maybe you’re right. Maybe you and me...maybe we need to get to know each other again.” 

Kurt hopes, and hopes-- 

“--But that’s gotta happen when you get back home,” Burt finishes. “And that’s the end of the discussion, Kurt.” 

Kurt looks up at Blaine, then. Blaine is looking at him, his stare measured. What does he think of it? 

And when did Kurt really stop believing his father knew best? 

\-- 

When Burt leaves, it’s uncomfortable. It’s been uncomfortable the whole time, to be honest--through the two days they’d spent celebrating Kurt’s birthday, gifts upon gifts arriving for him, small feasts--during which Kurt finally sees Blaine eat for the first time, something he intends to tease him about, because no dragon should eat so delicately--but then silence or shallow chatter, and Kurt honestly prefers the silence between the two. 

“Kurt, I hope one day you’ll understand,” Burt says. “But for now, you’ve only got a year left. Make the most of it, okay? Court is a different place, and you’ll need every tool at your disposal. So...study, and let me worry about the rest of it, okay?” 

Kurt doesn’t bother to correct his father’s assumption that there’s even a possibility of not worrying. “I love you, Dad,” he says instead. 

“I love you too, Kurt,” Burt says, holding him tight. “Don’t you ever doubt that.” He pulls away, and turns to look up at Blaine. “You keep my son safe. You hear?” 

“Of course, Majesty,” Blaine says earnestly. “I desire nothing else.” 

And then the king’s retinue escorts him out, and it’s just Kurt and Blaine in the hall. It feels much emptier than usual, and Kurt feels it cold, down to his core. He shivers, and hunches in on himself. Blaine’s seen him vulnerable before--he’s no longer embarrassed about it. He just lets himself crumple. 

“Oh, Kurt,” Blaine says, dropping his snout to Kurt’s head, blowing his warm breath over him. “What do you need?” 

“I--” Kurt’s breath hitches, and he starts to cry. “I’m just so tired.” 

Blaine nuzzles him, and after a long pause, says, “Come with me.” 

And this is how Kurt finally sees Blaine’s “hoard.” And he laughs. 

“ _This_ is the dragon’s treasure?” he says, giggling. “Blaine, gold thread?” 

The lower level of the grand hall is mostly taken up by a gigantic cushion, obviously custom made for Blaine. It’s gigantic and soft, a neutral tan color woven intricately with what must be miles and miles of beautiful golden thread. 

“I thought it would be a nod to tradition,” Blaine says. “But I’m far too accustomed to human comforts to lie on gold coins. Far too hard for me, and so noisy.” Kurt laughs again, and Blaine settles himself on his massive cushion, lying on his side and curling his head down to the ground. He lifts one wing. “Come here. Lie with me.” 

Kurt approaches tentatively, but when the strange notion that he might be reprimanded passes, he lays right against Blaine’s side. His wing comes back down like a blanket, curving over his chest and laying over his whole body. The scales are warm, and smooth, and the cushion beneath him is so soft. And there’s this lovely spot just behind of Blaine’s leg that has a cup, like it was made for Kurt to lie in. He settles comfortably. 

“How is that?” Blaine asks. His eye is about level with Kurt with his neck curled up like that. 

“Warm,” Kurt says, feeling exhausted. “Can I--can I stay for a while?” 

“You can stay as long as you like, Kurt,” Blaine says. 

It’s nice, here, Kurt thinks. He’ll stay as long as he can. 

And then, just as he drifts, a soft voice. “Courage, my prince.” 

It’s like a lullaby.


	6. Chapter 6

Kurt’s sixteenth birthday is a week away when _it_ arrives.

“Something came for you,” Blaine says one day, nodding to the table in the garden and huffing warm air, sending a little envelope fluttering along its surface. His wings rustle and he seems to have trouble settling, and Kurt eyes him closely. 

“Are you all right?” Kurt asks. 

“I am fine,” Blaine says, settling down and shaking his head a little. “Even dragons itch sometimes. Don’t you want your letter?” 

“So impatient,” Kurt sasses, smirking and flirting like he has for at least the past year, since he had that growth spurt that changed him from chubby child to slender teenager. Ever since Blaine had noticed this change, their entire relationship had changed to this--casual, innocent flirtations that follow Kurt to his bedroom at night. It’s easier when Blaine is in his dragon form to do it--when he’s human it’s too easy for Kurt’s mind to drift to his nighttime fantasies. 

Blaine doesn’t respond--he just goes still and gives Kurt a look that makes him laugh as he sits down and pulls the envelope closer. 

It’s unmarked, but the seal on the back pulls at Kurt’s mind. It’s familiar--the royal seal of some country or other, Kurt thinks. It’s not one of the nearby ones, though, or Kurt would know it better. “Since when do I receive letters?” Kurt wonders aloud. 

“It came with your father’s response to your latest report,” Blaine says, his voice carefully even. “He approved its sending. It seems that it’s from his chosen suitor.” 

Kurt frowns. “Mm,” he says noncommittally, opening the envelope. 

“I’ll give you some privacy, Kurt,” Blaine says. “We’ll be having our final lessons later today, though, so please return after lunch.” 

He lumbers away on his feet until he’s in the open field further away from the walls, and then Kurt gets to watch as his huge, powerful body takes flight, winding its way sinuously over the walls of the castle and away. It’s beautiful, and Kurt treasures the moment before returning to his letter. 

It’s on thick, heavy parchment, and the words seem far to black and heavy on its surface as he reads. 

_Prince Kurt,_

I write to you now in greeting. My name is Adam, and I’m the Prince of Essex. Our fathers have been in negotiation for some time over our betrothal. I would not presume to think you accept already, and I mean to pay you court and know your heart before I do, but I have to admit that I’ve heard tales of your great beauty and wit, and I am impatient to meet you. 

The letter goes on, and Kurt’s frown deepens as he reads. This Adam sounds nice enough, but Kurt grows angrier and angrier as the letter continues, at this man’s temerity and assumption. He might say he doesn’t expect anything of Kurt, but it’s not the truth--he expects Kurt to be some kind of fainting, distressed _thing_ in need of rescue, he even ends his letter, _I am in haste to rescue you from your solitude_. Solitude? Kurt’s not alone here, he’s not locked in his tower, waiting for this Adam to rescue him. He’s not growing out his hair for a rope to climb or wishing on mirrors and roses and shooting stars. He’s perfectly happy as he is, thank you. 

Not that Adam isn’t charming in his way. But Kurt doesn’t know him, and doesn’t wish to know him. He stands for everything Kurt doesn’t want--the denial of choice. 

Kurt crumples the letter and drops it to the floor with an imperious sneer to accompany it down. He wants nothing to do with it, and he leaves it there as he rises and heads back inside. 

\-- 

There’s no evidence of it when Kurt returns to the garden the next day, nor any mention of it when Blaine tells him to sit down in the garden. 

“What’s going on?” 

Blaine waits until he’s seated before lowering himself down to Kurt’s level as best he can--settled completely to the ground, neck bent so as the keep at least their eyes level. 

“Your birthday is soon,” Blaine says. “You know what that means.” 

Kurt’s smile fades. “Yes, I’ve had quite a few reminders lately. What of it?” 

“I have to prepare you for that, Kurt,” Blaine says. “There’s more to it than just being swept away. What happens after, what’s expected of you--I need to inform you of everything that I can, so that you’ll be prepared.” 

Kurt bites his lips and blinks away the urge to cry out in anger. “I’d rather not.” 

“Kurt--” 

“No,” Kurt says, standing. “I refuse to participate in anything to do with this, Blaine.” 

Blaine narrows his eyes at him. “Kurt. Please be reasonable.” 

“I’ve been as reasonable as can be expected, I think. Now, I have studies to complete. If you’re not going to teach me anything, I’ll just do it by myself in my room.” 

Kurt walks away before Blaine has anymore chance to speak. It’s satisfying to walk away from him in a tiny, petty way that Kurt savors for all of the two minutes it takes to walk himself up to his room. By the time he slams his door shut behind himself, he feels small and immature about how he cut Blaine off. 

It’s not Blaine’s fault. He has been nothing but supportive and so caring and kind to Kurt his entire stay here. It’s no wonder Kurt is absolutely, hopelessly in love with him--he’s beautiful in both forms, and warm, and fun, and so sweet and considerate. He always takes Kurt seriously and treats him as an equal. He never talks down to him or expects anything but the best from him, and Kurt feels like he can be better because of it. 

Blaine, of course, has no idea. He can’t, and thankfully he seems completely oblivious to the fact, even in Kurt’s most unguarded moments, when he crawls onto Blaine’s cushion and curls up against him. But it doesn’t stop Kurt from feeling. It doesn’t stop him from wishing that his fairytale could end with Blaine, and not with--whoever, some unknown stranger that happens to have a crown on his head. 

Kurt thinks briefly of his father, but tosses the notion away. He hasn’t felt too kindly about his father in the past year. He just--misunderstands. 

No, Kurt wants his dragon. He wants the warmth and the fire and the passion he sees in Blaine. He wants to end Blaine’s loneliness, centuries of it, of a line of princesses who left him without a thought, of empty service and solitude. He wants Blaine to see the courage in Kurt, who so wants to save himself from this situation, but doesn’t know how. He wants Blaine to guide him, to show him the way out of this, and then he wants to _act_ , to find for himself the happiness he knows is just out of reach. Somewhere in Blaine, somewhere Blaine won’t let him, somewhere Kurt will have to have more courage than he has now to get to. 

_Courage._ It’s all Kurt has really strived for these past few years. To live up to that one word that Blaine utters so unthinkingly. Even when he stumbles during his relentless sword practice, even when he fails to study hard enough, even when he finds himself curled up and lonely at night when he refuses to give in to the urge to seek Blaine’s warmth, at least he can be courageous. He can do that one thing, even when he can do nothing else. 

But will he have to do more, now? How on earth can he have courage when facing the most terrifying prospect he’s ever faced? Entrapment, an engagement he didn’t choose, being forced into the role of the damsel because of his anatomy, when he knows the last thing he needs is someone else to rescue him. When he’s king, he’ll do away with this--princesses and carrier princes and reborn royalty and _any_ gender of royalty can find their beloveds like everybody else, what’s between their legs won’t have to define the way they’re seen, or any other accident of birth--no more treating people differently. 

He just has to get through this, and he’ll see to it. But how? 

\-- 

He abandons his aching thoughts and decides to complete his studies up in room. He dallies after, and he’s contemplating making himself a new outfit when Blaine walks in--human. 

“Kurt--we need to talk,” he says. 

Kurt, taken unawares, opens and closes his mouth uselessly for a moment before he can gather himself. “I don’t recall inviting you in here.” 

“Kurt,” Blaine says, giving him a look. “You can’t keep avoiding this. You only have one week left.” 

“Well, what if I don’t want to go back in a week?” Kurt demands. “What if I don’t want to go back at all?” 

“Kurt--” 

“Fine,” Kurt snaps. “Fine. If you’re so determined to get rid of me, let’s talk.” He sits himself down at his breakfast table and folds his arm, staring Blaine down hard. 

Blaine sighs and joins Kurt at the table, folding his hands on its polished surface. “Kurt. In one week, your father will be sending your escort here to fetch you home. You’ll be expected to allow him to pay court, and if all goes well you’ll be engaged and married. You’ll have to resume court duties as well, and I know I’ve been remiss in keeping those habits sharp. So in the next week we’ll have to go over proper court proceedings and etiquette, just to make sure you’re ready for your prince and your duties.” 

So Kurt’s pleas continue to fall on deaf ears. His father is doing what he thought was best, but it isn’t enough for Kurt--their relationship has become awkward and strained, and Kurt has only grown closer to Blaine in response. But now Blaine is siding with his father. 

Blaine is everything to him. And now he’s being forced to leave for a stranger. 

When Kurt says nothing, Blaine sighs again. “Kurt, I know you’re displeased--” 

“I’m more than displeased,” Kurt says. “My entire life is being ripped away from me for the second time.” 

Blaine’s face falls, and he looks so _sad_. “I’m so sorry, Kurt. I wish it didn’t have to be this way.” 

“Why should it?” Kurt asks. “Tradition? How many princes and princesses have to be torn away from here before people start getting that _it’s not a good idea--_ ” 

“Everyone before you has been glad to leave, Kurt,” Blaine says softly. “Every princess I’ve fostered has welcomed her prince and the opportunity to return to court.” Kurt scoffs, but says nothing. Blaine smiles sadly. “Aren’t you lonely here?” 

Kurt feels Blaine’s eyes on him, but doesn’t look up to meet them. “No. I thought I had you.” 

“Oh, Kurt. You do have me.” 

“Apparently not.” 

Blaine reaches across the table and holds his hand up for Kurt. Kurt stares at it for a long moment before relenting, offering Blaine his hand in return. 

“You always have me, Kurt,” Blaine says. He looks so sad, smiling like that--regretful. “But not in the way you might come to need me.” 

Kurt blushes, and Blaine withdraws his hand. Blaine--does Blaine know? Is he implying--but could he--yet--no. 

Suddenly, it doesn’t matter. 

“Why can’t I just choose for myself?” Kurt demands angrily, standing up and pacing. “Why can’t I stay here and--and start holding court myself? Then princes could come to me all they want and I could pick for myself--” 

“Kurt, your father--” 

“I don’t care,” Kurt says, the tears flowing freely now. “Blaine, please don’t make me leave.” 

Blaine stands and rocks on his feet before pulling Kurt into his arms, hugging him hard. “I’m so sorry, Kurt. Sometimes--” He laughs softly, pulling back. “Sometimes I wish--I wish I could be what you need, Kurt. I wish I could give you what you want.” 

“What do I want?” Kurt asks, breathless. 

Blaine looks at him closely. “Your own prince.” 

Kurt takes a deep breath. “No.” 

“No?” 

“I don’t want a prince,” Kurt says. 

Blaine’s eyes stare into his own. _Courage,_ he thinks. 

“I want you.” 

Blaine blinks, eyes wide, and then looks down. “Me?” 

Kurt just nods, and the air turns awkward. 

“Kurt,” Blaine begins. “I’m--I’m twenty times your age--” 

“That doesn’t seem to matter to me,” Kurt says frankly. 

“It matters to me,” Blaine says. “You should be with someone--someone who is like you, who understands you--” 

“You understand me.” 

“But you don’t understand me,” Blaine says. “Kurt, dragons are different. We can’t just-- _be_ human. We’re not human. We have to bond--” 

“I know.” But then Kurt feels a flash of horror. “So--you don’t _want_ to bond with me.” 

There’s a long silence, and Kurt feels like the earth should part beneath his feet and draw him into hell. He’s seconds away from running out of the castle and away forever when Blaine says it. 

“It’s not that.” Blaine covers his eyes with his hands, pressing in hard as he sits again. When they fall, he looks tired, and sad. “Please sit.” 

Kurt feels terrified, and far too vulnerable. “I think I’ll stand,” he says. 

Blaine just sighs. “Kurt. I cannot be what you need me to be.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because I’m forbidden,” Blaine says simply. “I’m here to protect you, to foster you, to see over your care and education in place of your father. Your father would never forgive me if I took advantage of that.” 

“But you aren’t,” Kurt protests. “I’m not a child anymore. I can make my own decisions.” 

“Not this decision.” 

“Blaine please--just--just please,” Kurt says, hardly knowing what to say to make Blaine _understand._ “I need you--” 

“Kurt--” 

“No,” Kurt says. “I need--I need you. I--” 

“Kurt,” Blaine says. “There’s nothing I can do to stop this. You go home next week whether I want you to or not.” 

Something about the way Blaine says that strikes Kurt to the core, and he realizes just how real this is. He has to leave. And leaving is the hardest thing Kurt has ever had to do. Now, he just has to decide whether to let Blaine go now, or wait a week. Because either way, he has to let go, doesn’t he? 

“Did my father say something?” he asks, a last ditch effort. 

“He didn’t have to,” Blaine says. “The letter from your suitor speaks clearly enough.” 

Kurt nods. “So I have no choice at all.” 

“Your father said you could choose another if--” 

“No,” Kurt says. “I don’t have a choice. Because if I did, I would choose you.” 

“Kurt--” 

“Blaine, I--” 

Kurt can’t hold it together anymore. He crumples, weeping, one hand flying up to cover his mouth as he sobs. His future--it seems so bleak, and Kurt is no stranger to mourning--he’s mourning the loss of all he wants from life. Soon he’ll have to take a pale shade of his heart’s desire, surrender himself to someone he doesn’t want, a fairytale he hates, abandoning this castle, his _home._ Blaine. 

Blaine, whose arms wrap around Kurt tightly, holding him close as he cries. Blaine, who smells like burning teakwood and _male._ Blaine, whom Kurt loves intensely and longs for in the way that only young hearts can. Blaine, who is making hushing noises and petting Kurt’s hair, reaching up because somewhere along the way, Kurt grew taller than him. 

Kurt pulls his head back when he realizes this, and looks down into Blaine’s face. He’s--gods, he’s stunning this close, and his skin is so _warm_ , and Kurt wants nothing more than to kiss him. 

“Kurt,” he whispers. 

Kurt’s not sure how he finds the nerve to lean in, but either way their lips slot together, for the briefest, sweetest moment. And then Blaine pulls away. 

“Kurt, I can’t,” Blaine says. 

Kurt bites his lips, as though he can force the kiss to stay tingling over them, and nods. “I know. I just--I wished I could know--just once--” 

Blaine looks like he has so much more to say, but he shakes his head and closes his eyes and turns away. Without another word, he flees the room, the door slamming hard shut behind him. 

\-- 

Their week is awkward. So awkward. Blaine remains distant and formal, and Kurt has no idea how to reach out, to bridge the distance. So he mopes, and despairs, because he feels like he lost his friendship with Blaine over everything else. 

Until the night before his birthday. 

“I can’t be human for you, Kurt.” 

It comes from his door, and he turns from where he’s curled up on the bed to see Blaine, human, standing in his door. He sits up and wipes his eyes. 

“Because we’re not bonded,” Kurt says. 

“I can’t risk bonding with you,” Blaine says, stepping forward. “It would be a complete betrayal of trust and unfair to you.” 

“If that’s what you think,” Kurt says with a shrug. He’s too sad, too drained from crying to protest too much. 

“Oh, Kurt,” Blaine says, and he _melts_ somehow, softening and loosening as he approaches the bed and sits next to Kurt. “I am--so sorry to hurt you.” 

“It’s not really your fault,” Kurt says bitterly. “It’s my father. His damned traditions--” 

“Your father loves you,” Blaine says. “He just doesn’t know what else to do.” 

“He could listen to me!” Kurt storms. “He never even wanted to hear it--” 

“Are you sure you ever really told your father everything?” Blaine says. “But I wish there was something I could do.” 

Kurt sets his jaw and lifts his chin. “You could do something.” 

Blaine tilts his head, questioning. 

Kurt takes a deep breath. “Kiss me?” 

Blaine instantly looks torn. “Kurt--” 

“Just--show me what I’m giving up,” Kurt requests. “Please? Let me have you just--once? So I’ll have something for myself.” 

Blaine shuts his eyes hard, gasps for breath. “Kurt, please--please don’t ask me--” 

“Please?” Kurt asks anyway. “Blaine, I love--” 

Blaine grabs his cheeks and surges in, kissing him hard. Kurt sags beneath it, letting Blaine have him, opening his mouth and trying to follow the movement of Blaine’s lips, worrying all the while if he’s doing it right. 

“Gods, Kurt,” Blaine gasps between kisses. “Been so hard to resists you--ever since you figured out how beautiful you are--it’s been torture--” 

Kurt whines high, holding onto Blaine’s arms and just _taking_ , taking what Blaine has to give him. It isn’t much--just a few more kisses, softening as they go, until Blaine pulls away with the softest brush of lips. And Kurt knows that’s all he’s getting. 

“Stay with me?” Kurt asks. “I’m--I’m scared.” 

Blaine nods, and kisses his forehead. “I’ll stay until you’re asleep.” 

Kurt lies down, and Blaine curls up behind him, holding him. Kurt finds more tears in him--this is what he’s never going to have again. The thought won’t leave him--this is what he wants, these arms around him, this love, and it’s being denied. 

He can never have this. 

The knowledge of that sits low in his stomach while he cries himself to sleep, the only comfort in Blaine’s still-warm presence at his back. 

That night, Kurt dreams of flying.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all who continue to comment! I see all of them, even if I don't reply.

When Kurt wakes in the morning, it’s to trumpets, and Blaine’s arms around his waist. He feels… _light_. Like his bones have hollowed and the gentlest breeze could drift him like a feather. Like he could sit on a cloud and not fall through.

Then he realizes what woke him. Blaine’s arms are _tense_. They’re seized up and hard, and it’s like lying in a vise--a lot more uncomfortable than he ever thought the metaphor could allow. And--yes, Blaine says something, but Kurt misses it completely. 

“Hmmm?” he groans. Then he yawns, stretching. Gods, he feels so _rested_. 

“Kurt, wake up.” 

The arms around him are gone, and suddenly he feels indignant at how roughly Blaine pulls away. What on earth--he looks back at Blaine, rumpled and disbelieving and withdrawing with a look of stern agitation on his face. 

“What--” 

“Your prince is here, Kurt. Get dressed.” 

Blaine looks at him for one moment, and then rushes away, shedding his clothing as he goes, just taking off his shirt as the door slams open and he disappears through it. He leaves Kurt alone in his bedroom like this, with nothing to go on but that his future, his bleak and dying future, is here to claim him. 

The trumpets. That’s what they mean. 

_No._

Kurt rises and sheds his clothing. He can’t let this destroy him--he has to put on his strongest front if he’s going to get his way today. He sorts through his outfits and selects the finest, but the trumpets grow louder and _closer_ and he has to dress quickly. In his panic he doesn’t care if he looks horrible, he doesn’t _care_ how this prince sees him, he has to get to Blaine and make him understand-- 

He rushes down the stairs and into the great hall, following a trail of Blaine’s human clothing, shed bit by bit on the way down the halls, the last of it at the top of the grand staircase in the entry hall. Kurt skids past, almost tripping on Blaine’s abandoned smallclothes, and speeds down the marble staircase faster than he’s ever risked and rushes around the corner and into the great hall. 

But he’s too late. 

Blaine is once more a dragon, and he is seated formally, so distant from Kurt. Kurt stops and stares up, but Blaine won’t look down at him. He won’t make eye contact. 

“Blaine, please--” 

“His royal majesty, Prince Adam of Essex.” 

Kurt turns. 

The man who has come to take him away is handsome and grinning. Blonde hair, amiable smile, twinkling eyes. He’s smartly turned out, and he effuses warmth. Kurt knows right away, with a strong first impression painting a picture in his mind, that this man is sweet and kind--his father would have picked well. He’s a quintessential prince charming, the fairytale come to life. He’s everything Kurt could ever have dreamed of. 

But that was before Kurt dreamed of life above the clouds, the steady beat of wings in his ear. 

“Prince Kurt,” Adam says, voice accented with a pleasant lilt. He approaches, and kneels down, bowing his head. “It is my greatest honor to finally meet you. I’ve been waiting for quite a long time to come and take your hand.” 

It’s not traditional for Adam to bow to him, but it’s a lovely gesture. Kurt doesn’t have the heart for it--he wants to drag the man to his feet and show him the door, run back into Blaine’s arms-- 

But Blaine remains above him. Distant. Cold. Eyes turned away. 

Adam rises, and smiles at Kurt, taking Kurt’s hand. “Kurt, can I just say--you are more stunning than I ever imagined.” 

_Blaine,_ Kurt’s heart cries out. _I want Blaine._

“Are you--all right?” 

“Don’t take me,” Kurt says, voice low and desperate. “Please just turn around and go--I’m sure you’re very nice, but--” 

“I don’t--understand--” 

“Prince Adam,” Blaine says. Kurt’s heart swoops at its sound. “Kurt is understandably nervous about leaving his home for the past six years. Perhaps it’s best if we sit down and--” 

“I don’t--don’t do this,” Kurt says. “Blaine, you can’t--” 

“This is not my decision, Kurt,” Blaine says. 

“Kurt, I understand how hard leaving home is,” Adam says. “We’ve a long journey before us, and you’re reluctant to leave. But I’ll do my best to make the journey pass quickly, and your father is waiting impatiently for you--” 

“Don’t speak to me about my father,” Kurt spits. He turns back to Blaine. “You’re going to make me leave?” 

“Kurt, you don’t belong here,” Blaine says. “The servants are already packing up your things. You’ll be comfortable with your own possessions back home--that’s where you belong. Not stuck here.” 

Kurt’s heart _hurts_. It hurts like he’s been stabbed, and the tears rush to his eyes. No--this is happening too quickly, and Blaine is pushing him out like he hasn’t spent the past six years as Kurt’s only tie to life. He can’t do this--he _can’t_ \-- 

“You can’t,” Kurt whispers, but Blaine doesn’t hear him. 

“I’m so sorry to have to do this, Kurt,” Adam says. “But there is a carriage waiting. Perhaps it’s best if we get it over with?” 

Kurt looks up expectantly. But Blaine still won’t look down. He won’t even look Kurt in the eye. 

Everything goes cold in Kurt. His blood seems to run slower, and there’s a bottomless pit in his stomach that seems to suck the joy right out of everything. And to think, just minutes ago he’d felt _light._ Like nothing could bring him down. 

“Then this is it,” Kurt says. It tastes bitter on his tongue, as true as it rings. “I’m leaving.” 

“Kurt--” Blaine huffs, and then leans down, ruffling Kurt’s hair with his snout. “It has been my greatest pleasure to watch you grow, my prince. But you are ready to leave now.” 

Kurt catches the sob in his throat before it comes out, and it strangles him. And that’s what it feels like--leaving feels like all the air is being kept from his lungs, like he’s being dragged away by the throat by hands that want the life choked out of him. He’s leaving behind his _life_. 

And Blaine doesn’t want him here. 

“So it meant nothing to you,” Kurt says quietly, and Blaine pulls back sharply. “Fine.” He turns to Adam. “Then we should go.” 

“Are you sure?” Adam asks. He opens his mouth to say more, but Kurt just nods once, sharply. 

“I’m sure,” he says. “I’ll go with you.” 

“Kurt--” 

“Goodbye, Blaine.” 

Without waiting for his _prince_ , Kurt walks away, holding himself together with nothing more than his arms wrapped around his chest. 

\-- 

“Would you like a drink?” 

Kurt glances up from his seat in the carriage. Adam is smiling, offering him a wineskin. Kurt raises an eyebrow. 

“You look like you could use it,” Adam says genially. 

Kurt snorts, and takes the wineskin, taking a deep pull from it. It’s good wine, different than the kind Blaine kept at the castle. Kurt is thankful--he doesn’t know if he could taste the same wine without thinking about all the dinners spent in companionable silence, or quietly discussing anything from his lessons to Blaine’s life both in service to the kingdom and out of it. 

No, this wine will do just fine. Kurt drinks more, and Adam gives him a small, sad smile across from him. 

“I’m sorry to have to be the one to make you sad,” he says. “That is the last thing I want for you.” 

“Well, here we are,” Kurt says. Adam winces faintly, and Kurt feels uncharitable. “Though...I suppose you don’t have much of a choice in this either.” 

“Well, I do have some,” Adam says. “I chose this. I asked for the opportunity for your hand. Granted, this isn’t how I would have chosen to meet you, but--I am glad to have met you anyway, even if it is under less than ideal circumstances.” 

Kurt can’t return the sentiment. The farther they get from his castle, the more Kurt’s heart aches to return. He has the overwhelming urge to jump out of the carriage, run back, and beg Blaine to let him stay, his dignity be damned. 

That’s what he has to do. He can’t--he can’t do this, he can’t let himself be taken away. How little of a fight did he put up? 

“Adam, I’m sorry,” Kurt says, shifting in his seat, dropping the wineskin and reaching for the door. “I can’t do this--” 

Adam grabs his arm and shifts with him. “Kurt, I can’t let you--” 

“I don’t care,” Kurt says, wrenching his arm free. “I’m going back--” 

Adam grabs him around the waist and stops his frantic lunge. He continues to fight, scrabbling for the door. 

“Kurt, please!” Adam begs. “Don’t do this--” 

“Let me _go!_ ” Kurt demands, squirming. “I have to go back--” 

“Kurt, you _can’t._ ” Adam says. “The guards with us are under orders to bring us _both_ to your father. They won’t let you go, and you’ll end up _locked_ in here. Please, just--cooperate, and keep your freedom.” 

Kurt shoves away from him, landing hard on his seat. He glares daggers at Adam. “ _What_ freedom?” 

Adam flinches, and sits down as well. “Oh, Kurt. I’m so sorry.” 

Kurt’s lip trembles. It’s true. He’s a prisoner. His own father has sent this man as his _gaoler_ , not his savior. 

He grabs the wineskin and takes a deep draught, the alcohol burning his throat. 

“Kurt--” 

“Don’t you dare,” Kurt says, swallowing thickly. “Don’t you dare.” 

Adam sighs, hand still halfway out to Kurt in supplication. He retreats softly, looking as devastated as Kurt feels. 

“Very well,” he says. “Just--know how sorry I am. Truly.” 

“If only that meant something,” Kurt spits, taking another drink. He has no intention of remembering anymore of this journey, if he can help it. 

\-- 

“What on earth happened?” 

Kurt stirs, and realizes two things: he’s quite drunk, and someone who smells good is carrying him. 

“He--he did not take the journey well, your highness,” Adam’s voice says. It buzzes against Kurt’s right hand, which is tucked against Adam’s chest. 

“And what is that supposed to mean? What happened to him?” That’s his father’s voice. Kurt freezes, and refuses to open his eyes. He can’t face him now. He doesn’t want to see him. 

“He overindulged in the wine,” Adam says softly. “Your highness, are we quite sure--” 

“He’s home now,” Burt says, and a heavy hand pushes Kurt’s hair off his forehead. “Let’s put him in his room, and then you can explain to me why he got like this.” 

Kurt keeps up his charade as Adam carries him along, and all the way until he’s set down in a soft, warm bed. But the moment he settles in, a sob forms in his throat and he can’t hold it back. 

“Oh, Kurt,” Adam whispers. He brushes Kurt’s hair back, much gentler than his father had, and lays a sweet kiss to his temple. “Try to get some more sleep, darling. You’ll feel better in the morning.” 

Kurt cries and cries as Adam leaves him. It’s over--he’s back at his father’s palace, in his old room, what will be his room once more. He’ll never see his room in the tower, and he’ll never see Blaine, again. It’s to this thought his tears fall, over and over onto his pillow, until he falls into a fitful sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for description of a panic attack.

When Kurt wakes, his head pounds enough to send him straight back into his pillow the moment he tries to move.

“Ow.” 

Even his own voice hurts his ears, and he groans, which just makes everything worse. 

“Good to see you awake, Kurt.” 

Kurt startles, flying upright in bed, headache be damned. His father is sitting in a chair pulled up to the side of the bed, staring at him with a somewhat smug look on his face. 

“Is that what this is?” Kurt asks in a flat voice. 

“Hey. How about we cut the attitude. You drank too much wine for that to even be a possibility, I don’t know how you managed it.” 

Kurt rubs his eyes. “Is there something you need, Dad?” 

“What, I can’t come see my son after not seeing him for how many months?” 

“I don’t know how many months.” 

“Hey. What’s with you?” 

“I don’t know, Dad, why might I be upset?” Kurt snaps. “How about I just got dragged away from my home against my will?” 

“... _This_ is your home.” 

“Really?” Kurt asks. “Because I haven’t been here for six years.” 

Burt wipes his face with a hand. “Kurt, I did what I did for your own good--” 

“And yet you didn’t consider what might be best for me when you made me come back here,” Kurt blazes. 

“Despite what you might think, I did, Kurt. You’re my heir--I need you here.” 

“And yet you sent me away.” 

“Kurt, we’ve been over this.” 

“ _You’ve_ been over this. You haven’t listened to what I have to say at all.” 

“Contrary to what you might think, I have,” Burt says. “I just didn’t do what you wanted.” 

Kurt can’t really find a reply for that. His head feels like it’s being pierced by _swords_. 

“I had the servants bring your breakfast,” Burt says. “You’ll feel better if you eat something.” 

He rises, and reaches out to ruffle Kurt’s hair. Kurt pulls back, wincing. Burt sighs. 

“Look, kid, I hope you’ll come around someday,” Burt says. “But now, I need you to be _here._ You’ve got duties, responsibilities. I need you to start taking care of those.” 

“Okay,” Kurt says. “How?” 

“I’ve assigned you a steward to walk you through everything,” Burt says. “I’ve already got someone picked out for you--someone you know, actually. I thought that might please you.” 

“Who?” 

“You’ll meet him after you eat your breakfast,” Burt hedges. “So get up. There’s a lot to do today.” 

Burt leaves, and as soon as he’s gone, Kurt rises and sets to his breakfast, eager to end the roiling in his stomach. It’s delicious--and it makes him feel much better. But it’s cut short when a knock sounds at his door. 

He reluctantly leaves his meal and opens his door, gasping when he sees who it is. 

“Elliott!” 

“Your highness,” Elliott says, bowing his head. 

“My father chose you for my steward?” 

“Oh, I won’t deny having a hand in it myself,” Elliott says, entering Kurt’s chambers without permission. “As soon as you were done with me the last time, I sought a job here at the palace. I started as an assistant to one of your father’s clerks and rose up from there. I requested the position when your father was known to be searching, and he approved me when he learned I was your...tutor.” He smirks, and Kurt smiles. 

“So you have the job again,” Kurt says. “I don’t know what I’m doing _at all._ ” 

“Don’t worry, your highness,” Elliott says. “We’ll take care of you.” 

\-- 

Dressed and debriefed on the basics of the day ahead, Kurt heads to his father’s court to be presented to his father. 

“I don’t want to do this,” Kurt says to Elliott as they approach the grand ballroom where Burt holds his court. 

“I know,” Elliott says. “But you have to anyway. Just get it over with--go kneel, swear fealty to your father, and then you get to sit down and relax. Just--pay attention, okay? It might not be interesting, but you’ll get experience, and that’s important.” 

“I won’t swear fealty,” Kurt says. “No.” 

“Pretend you’re swearing fealty to someone else, then,” Elliott suggests. “You might be pissed at your dad, but he’s still the king, and even if you don’t like it, it’s your duty to be loyal to him.” 

“And if I don’t want that duty?” 

Elliott stops Kurt with a hand on his shoulder and looks him seriously in the eye. 

“I might get in trouble for saying this, but suck it up,” Elliott says frankly. “It’s not about what you want. It’s about your responsibilities. If you’re going to be king, you’re going to have to learn to put other people before yourself. That’s what being a king _is._ So grow up.” 

Kurt stands frozen, furious under that. “Excuse me?” 

“I said, grow up,” Elliott says. “You’re the prince. And all the privilege that comes with that also comes with responsibility. You know this. It’s basic. Do. Your. Job.” 

Kurt’s fury fades to simple shock. “I can’t believe you’re saying this to me.” 

“I have a job, too,” Elliott says. “I might not _want_ to say this to you, but I have to.” 

“What do you _want_ to say?” 

Elliott sighs. “I’d love to tell you to run back to your castle and your dragon. I know that’s what you want. But that decision is out of both of our hands.” 

Kurt digests that for a long moment, letting it settle into him. Elliott is right. He has to do this--he has to be an adult, do Blaine proud. Show that he’s well-educated, that Blaine raised him right. 

With a pang at so much of Blaine in his thoughts, Kurt draws himself up. “I’m ready, then.” 

Elliott nods, and motions to the door. Two servants check into the ballroom, and after only a few moments’ wait, pull the big doors open for Kurt’s grand entrance. 

The walk down the middle of the court is terrifying, and Kurt has to do it alone. There’s a long red carpet edged with gold, and on either side stand his father’s subjects--mostly nobles, fabulously dressed and staring at him with far more intent than Kurt is comfortable with. But he stands tall under it and walks down to his father, seated at his grand throne, upon the dais at the head of the room. Burt smiles proudly at him as he approaches-- _and what exactly does he have to be proud of_ , Kurt wonders. 

Kurt kneels before the throne and bows his head shortly before looking up at Burt and reciting the expected words. “I have come to swear fealty to my beloved father and king upon my homecoming.” 

Burt stands up. “Rise.” 

Kurt does so, and Burt breaks tradition--he steps down from the dais, which few kings before him have ever condescended to do, and he embraces his son. 

“Welcome home, son,” Burt murmurs, and the response from the court could not be cheerier. Kurt hears clapping and a pleased murmur, but he wants no part of it. He touches his father’s back once and then steps back from him. 

“I swear, from this day forth, my utmost service unto my sovereign,” he says, formal and cool. Burt blinks, and seems to falter in the face of his son, before his whole court. 

“I accept your service,” Burt says. “Come. You belong at my side.” 

Burt leads him up onto the dais, and to the smaller chair at his right side, reserved for his heir--the chair to his left is reserved for the queen, empty these past eight years. Kurt takes his seat on the right. 

“I’m here,” Elliott murmurs, coming up behind him, just off his right shoulder. “I’ll be shadowing your father’s steward to prepare for my position as yours, but I’ll always be right here.” 

Kurt, bolstered, turns to front and pays attention. This is going to be a long day. 

\-- 

Kurt’s ass hurts. That’s the thought that is increasingly pervasive in his mind. This chair is inhumanely uncomfortable, though undoubtedly stylish. But his ass hurts, and he can’t stand it much longer. 

His father’s been seeing supplicants and going on in court for almost two hours, and Kurt is suffocating under the number of people who take time from court to just come up and greet him, bowing and scraping and making nice when he’s sure there will be rumors abound by them by the time his ass even leaves this gods-forsaken chair. They’re taking up ridiculous amount of time, and Kurt just wants to be _gone._

He can’t _breathe._

“Are you okay?” Elliott whispers behind him, bending down to reach Kurt’s ear. 

“No,” Kurt says, shifting yet again to be more comfortable, trying to be subtle and undoubtedly failing. “How much longer?” 

“There’s quite a list today,” Elliott says. “Perhaps another half an hour?” 

“Doesn’t the council deal with small matters?” 

“This list is _from_ the council,” Elliott explains quietly. “The matters that need the king’s personal attention. And yours--Adam is here.” 

Land disputes, border skirmishes, tax increases and decreases, a drought, several incidents with officials under investigation, a giant harassing some farms out in the middle of nowhere--the list has gone on and on and on, and now Kurt has to sit through something to do with--with his chosen prince? Kurt can’t stand it. These people, his father included, all want something from him, something he isn’t prepared to give. How can he ever rule like this? How can he ever bear up the weight of all these people, the weight of his father’s expectation, the weight of a demanded betrothal, when all he wants is to be free? 

He _can’t breathe._

“I have to go,” Kurt says. “I have to get out of here.” 

“Kurt, you can’t--” 

The next supplicant hasn’t come up yet. Kurt leans forward and puts his hand on his father’s arm. 

“I can’t stay here,” he hisses. “Please let me leave.” 

“Are you okay, Kurt?” Burt asks, bending his head. 

“No. I have to go--” 

Kurt rises, and Burt rises with him. “Kurt, you’re needed.” 

“I can’t--” 

Kurt nods to the court, straightens up, and flees with as much dignity as he can, walking slowly to the back door as the crowd gasps and mumbles behind him. He doesn’t _care_ , he doesn’t care, he can’t stay, they’re _strangling_ him-- 

The moment he’s out the door and away from the weight of their eyes upon him, he breaks into a run. 

The palace is unfamiliar to him now as he runs and runs, trying to remember the way _out_ to somewhere safe. It blurs past him, doors and doors and doors and doors, until finally he finds one that leads _away_ , outside, into-- 

A garden. His father’s gardens, and it’s raining outside. But Kurt couldn’t care less. He’s outside, he can _breathe_ again, great gulping gasps of it to fill his needy lungs as he eases away from his sprint and jogs to the center, the little courtyard with the fountain and the rose bushes that smell like his mother used to smell. He weakens at the sight of them, at the rush of scent that he hasn’t experienced in six years, and he comes to a stop. 

He can’t keep running--there are guards stationed at the edges of the garden, and all around the grounds. If they see him--if they see him, they’ll stop him. Filled with that realization, the knowledge that he is well and truly trapped, Kurt sinks down, sitting on the ground and ignoring the cold seep of rain into his hair and clothes. 

“Mom,” he breathes, wishing he could do this by her grave--but he doesn’t know where it is anymore. “Mom, make him stop.” 

A sob breaks, and he crumples, pulling his legs up to his chest and hugging them as he cries into his knees. 

“Why is he doing this?” Kurt asks. “I don’t--I can’t do this. I just want to go _home._ ” 

A fresh wave of grief overtakes him, and he cries, sniffling and shivering. He misses his home, his _real_ home--he misses his tower, with the warm fireplace and the soft, wide bed. He misses sword practice in the garden, and lessons in the hall. He misses the great library and the cool stone walls. 

And he misses Blaine. He misses him so much it hurts. He misses his warm huffs of breath and the way the light glints off his scales and his stupid little horns when he’s in human form and his golden eyes and his great comfortable cushion and the way his wing folded over Kurt in the darkness and his _lips_ , tasted once and never enough, not nearly ever enough for Kurt. He only had the chance for so little, and now he knows what he’s missing. Now he knows what he’s given up, been _forced_ to give up. 

Gods, he’s a prisoner again. He’s _always_ been a prisoner--Blaine was just courteous enough, he _cared_ enough, to let Kurt feel free. But he’s never had any choice in the matter. 

It’s all the same. Kurt’s never going to be his own person. 

“Kurt.” 

Kurt jumps and looks up. Elliott is standing over him, looking down at him with pity clear on his face. 

“Oh, Kurt,” he says again, holding out his hand. “Come inside. Please.” 

Kurt sniffles and stares at Elliott’s hand. He is cold, and the ground is hard, and he has mud on his boots and pants, and gods he must look terrible. But Elliott still holds out his hand, patiently waiting for Kurt to take it. 

Kurt reaches out and puts his hand in Elliott’s, letting him pull Kurt to his feet. 

“There,” Elliott says. “Come on. There’s hot towels and tea waiting for us when we get inside.” 

Kurt allows Elliott to put an arm around his shoulders, and guide him inside.


	9. Chapter 9

_He’s flying. Clouds surround him, pass below him, and the sun warms his face. He’s sitting on the back of a dragon--_ his _dragon, black scales gleaming, wings beating heavily on either side of his back. The air here is thin, but Kurt couldn’t catch his breath either way--he is where he belongs, truly, entirely. There is nothing more_ freeing. _  
_

He lifts his arms and whoops, and he feels a chuckle beneath him, warm and affectionate, and he knows he is loved. Nothing feels more real to him, the solidity and weight of it deep in his chest.

And then the world changes. He drops, and lands on something soft with a jerk, and when he rolls around to see where he is, he’s met with Blaine, human. 

“I can see it,” he says, soft and caring, cupping Kurt’s cheek. 

“What?” Kurt asks. 

Blaine doesn’t respond, but they kiss, deep and passionate, and Kurt can feel Blaine’s hands everywhere on his body. He draws lines of lightning across Kurt’s skin, and he swears he can hear it crackle from nerve to nerve. It makes beautiful music, tapping across him with little buzzing notes that rise into his throat and escape onto Blaine’s lips. They’re making music _._

“You can’t stop,” Blaine says. “Stopping hurts.” 

And then he’s far away, and Kurt can’t reach him. 

“Blaine?” he calls. “Blaine!” 

He tosses right off the bed, and he falls-- 

He jolts, his entire body spasming as it prepares to hit a floor that doesn’t exist. Instead, he’s safely in his bed at the palace, early morning light filtering in through the windows. 

What kind of dream _was_ that? And if he falls asleep again quickly, can he have it back? 

He lies flat on his back, breathing. There’s no way he’ll get to sleep again--his heart hammers too hard in his chest for that. But he can lie here and dwell, cling to the feelings he experienced, cling to the sensations that seemed so _real._ He’s never had dreams this real, he must want it so much, his mind offers him this-- 

Maybe it’s to keep him sane. Or to drive him insane, rather, because he can never have it. He hasn’t figured it out yet. 

He indulges some bittersweet tears for a few minutes, and then wipes them away. He has _duties_ to attend to today, he’s sure, though Elliott didn’t tell him what they were before leaving him to mope in his room for the rest of the day after his little-- _lapse_ the day before. 

Breakfast is waiting for him in his foyer, and he eats quickly before dressing for the day, going through the motions solemnly, dreading what’s to come. But as he finishes lacing up the sides of a fine embroidered jerkin--his father certainly provided a beautiful wardrobe, at least--there’s a knock on his door. 

Kurt opens the door, and immediately fights the urge to shut it again. 

“Kurt,” Adam says. “It’s--it’s good to see you. How are you this morning?” 

Kurt has no idea how to handle this. The last time he’d seen Adam, he’d gotten abysmally drunk and made a fool of himself. He’d struggled and fought and thrown fits, and now this man is here to make small talk? Kurt can feel his cheeks pink at facing this man now. 

“I’m--well,” Kurt says. “Can I help you?” 

Adam’s face falls a bit, but he maintains his smile. “I was rather hoping we could have a chat, you and I. Perhaps a walk in the gardens?” 

“No,” Kurt blurts, heart hammering. The garden feels like a safe place, and Kurt can’t bear to violate it with someone who is anything but safe to him now. But he’s being incredibly rude, on top of everything else, gods-- “Um--why don’t we tour the castle? I’ve got to reacquaint myself with the layout, after all.” 

Adam smiles wider, more genuinely. “That sounds lovely. And between us, we should find everything all right, shouldn’t we?” 

Kurt can’t help but smile--yes, indeed this man is charming. 

“Shall we?” Kurt asks, and Adam offers Kurt his arm. Kurt has no option but to take it--he doesn’t want to be rude, even though he has little desire to do this. He owes Adam that much, after the spectacle he made the other day, and after Adam has been nothing but pleasant. And anyway, it’s his _duty._

They stroll for a bit in silence, until Adam clears his throat. 

“Kurt, I want to apologize,” he says. “I’m--so terribly sorry for how the other day went. I had no idea you were unwilling to return here, or I would never--” 

Kurt can’t bear it. “Please. Don’t.” 

Adam pauses, and then sighs. “I suppose it’s not a pleasant experience for you to discuss. My apologies again. We should stick to lighter topics.” 

“I’d appreciate that,” Kurt says, all sincerity. 

“Well then. What can you tell me about yourself, Prince Kurt?” 

Kurt considers as they amble, and honestly cannot come up with much that wouldn’t hurt to speak of. His mother? His father? His childhood, torn away from him? Blaine? 

“I believe I’ve put my foot in my mouth again,” Adam says. “Will I ever be able to stop apologizing?” 

Kurt huffs, a touch of laughter in it. “Maybe we should start with you.” 

Adam grins. “Very well then.” 

\-- 

Conversation with Adam is surprisingly easy, once he stops asking Kurt questions. He’s sweet, and funny, and entirely attentive. He’s considerate and joyful and, to be honest, the perfect fairytale prince. His father chose someone that Kurt could really have loved. When they finally stop their tour, back at Kurt’s room, Adam bows and kisses his hand, and Kurt might once have swooned. 

But that was before Blaine. 

“I hope we can do this again sometime, Prince Kurt,” Adam says, smiling as though pleased with himself. Kurt doesn’t know if he wants to take offense to that or not. “Would you permit me to--” 

“Your highness!” 

Kurt turns--Elliott is hurrying up, papers in his arms. 

“Yes, Elliott?” Kurt asks, relieved. Whatever Adam had been trying to ask permission for, Kurt’s not sure he would’ve been able to grant it without worrying about the message that sent, and it would be so awkward to decline. 

“Your father asked to see you at once in his office,” he says. “And we have some business to go over--” 

“Yes, yes, of course,” Kurt says, smiling. He turns back to Adam. “I’m afraid we’ll have to leave it right there.” 

“Of course,” Adam says. “Excuse me, then.” 

He bows, and turns away. As soon as he’s around the corner, Kurt turns back to Elliott. 

“You saved me,” he says. “He was just asking me to ‘permit him to’ and I didn’t want to hear what came after that.” 

“You looked like you were about to panic,” Elliott says easily. “So it was my duty to intervene. And besides, your father _did_ request you.” He looks Kurt up and down. “So...not your prince charming?” 

Kurt walks past him, heading for his father’s office. “Oh, he’s charming. And obviously a prince. Just not _my_ prince.” 

“Still hung up on your dragon?” 

Kurt scoffs. “It’s only been two days. Am I just supposed to forget him?” 

“Isn’t that pretty much what he asked you to do?” Elliott asks. 

Kurt opens his mouth to retort, and then shuts it. He’s not sure if that’s what Blaine asked--it was certainly implied when he told Kurt to go home, that he was needed--that he wasn’t welcome in the castle anymore, basically. Blaine all but said he didn’t want Kurt, but only hours before Blaine had kissed him passionately, and wrapped him up in sleep. 

Kurt knows it’s because of duty. Blaine swore himself to the protection and service of Kurt’s father’s kingdom, and he was doing that duty. But if Kurt just had a chance to go talk to him, he could make Blaine see-- 

He just has to find an opportunity. Whatever else Kurt does, he _needs_ to find a chance to speak to Blaine, at least once more. 

“No,” Kurt finally answers. “No, he didn’t ask me to forget him. I don’t think he’d want me to, and even if he did, I wouldn’t. I haven’t given up yet.” 

“Kurt, your father will never let you see him again.” 

Kurt stops. “And you know this for certain?” 

“He’s never said as much, no,” Elliott says, “but have gave the guards orders to stop you if you try to leave.” 

Kurt’s blood boils up. “Did he.” 

Elliott swallows. “Oh no. Kurt, no--” 

Kurt pushes past him and strides right to his father’s office, entering without knocking. Burt, sitting at his desk, jumps in his seat before laughing and standing up. “Kurt, gods, you scared the life out of me--” 

“Why am I being kept prisoner?” 

Burt’s face falls, and he sighs, sitting back down. “Have a seat.” 

Kurt crosses his arms and slides into a seat before crossing his legs as well. “Well?” 

“It’s for your own safety--” 

“How much is my safety really at risk here?” Kurt interrupts. “Because it seems to me that that’s always the excuse.” 

Burt’s eyes narrow. “It’s for your own safety because if I didn’t have the guards stop you, you’d’ve already bust your way out of here and gone back to that castle by yourself. And you’re _not_ prepared to take on the road by yourself, Kurt, it’s too dangerous.” 

“You could always just send some guards with me--” 

“We’re not discussing this now, Kurt,” Burt says. “I called you in here for a different reason.” 

“And what exactly is that?” 

“Would you cut the attitude?” Burt asks. “Please, Kurt.” 

Kurt raises an eyebrow, but he relents. “Fine. To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“That’s better.” Burt nods. “Now. From what I hear, you were with Prince Adam this morning.” 

“And?” Kurt asks. “It’s not like I was given much of a choice.” 

Burt sighs again. “Look, I know you’re still mad--and let me finish!” he says, when Kurt opens his mouth to interrupt. “I know you’re mad. But give this guy a chance, please? He’s a good kid, and I think you’ll really like him if you get to know him. He’d be good for you, Kurt.” 

Kurt swallows. “He is nice. But Dad--I don’t want him.” 

“How do you even know, Kurt? You barely know him.” 

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know why Kurt didn’t want to leave his castle. He doesn’t know the biggest reason, even if he has probably guessed the others. And what little wonder, Kurt realizes--he’s never said. All he’s said so far is that he wants to choose his own prince. He never said that he doesn’t want a prince at all. 

He can’t tell his father now. What would he even say? And what difference would it make? Burt’s mind is clearly made up. 

“I just know,” he says instead, fear and doubt broiling in his stomach. What would happen if Burt found out that Blaine broke his promises, done what he’d been forbidden to do, and touched Kurt, however little he had? What would happen? 

Blaine would know. And Blaine should be the one to decide, being the one at risk. Kurt has to be careful about this until he can talk to Blaine, nothing is more important now. He needs the chance to talk to Blaine--about this, about what he knows they both want. 

And so Kurt has to endure until he gets his chance to escape. 

“Well, Kurt, then prove me wrong,” Burt says with a smirk, unaware of Kurt’s inner turmoil. “Give Adam a chance for...say, a month. If you don’t feel anything for him by then, then we’ll have a talk about how to proceed.” 

Kurt considers. A month. Can he wait a month, giving the appearance of cooperation, in order to get a chance to leave? Because if he does, at the end of the month, Burt might just let him go see Blaine. He might allow a visit, if he’s feeling kindly toward Kurt and if Kurt takes away his suspicions. 

This might be his opportunity, if he has the courage to take it. 

“Very well,” Kurt says. “One month. And then, at the end of the month, when I’m still unmoved…” He smiles just a little bit. “We’ll talk again. And then maybe you’ll listen to me?” 

Burt sighs, a third and final time. “I’ll consider it, Kurt.” 

Kurt bites his lip to keep from exploding with happiness, rocking with the force of it. “Very well. Deal.” 

He stands, but Kurt holds up a hand. “Wait. One more thing.” 

Kurt quirks an eyebrow as Burt lifts up a thin gold cuff with a dark, polished red stone. 

“What is that?” 

Burt’s face turns red and he clears his throat. “Um. It’s a charm. It’s got a charm on it.” 

“Yes,” Kurt says carefully. “What kind of charm.” 

“Will you just take it,” Burt says. Kurt does so, slipping it on his wrist. “Thank you.” 

“Okay,” Kurt says. “Can you tell me what it does?” 

Burt crosses his arms and looks awkward. “It’s to--keep you safe. Um. If you do end up liking Adam and decide to...take your relationship further.” 

Horror seeps into Kurt’s stomach, hollow and twisting. “Dad?” 

“It’ll keep you from getting pregnant,” Burt says. 

“Oh god,” Kurt says, immediately taking the thing off and dropping it on the desk. “No. No. Not necessary.” 

“Kurt,” Burt says firmly, “just take the damn thing. You don’t have to wear it all the time. The enchantress I bought it from told me it’ll work the moment you put it on, so--no need to advertise or anything, just--take it--” 

“Fine, fine, just stop talking please,” Kurt says, grabbing it up. “Are we done?” 

“Yes, we are done.” 

“Gods, great,” Kurt says. 

As he leaves, he catches Elliott at the door, face twisted up so as not to laugh. Kurt punches his arm. “Did you know?” he hisses. 

“No, oh my gods,” Elliott says. “Did he seriously just--” He laughs raucously now that the door is shut and they are on their way down the hall. 

“Oh, gods--do you want it? I don’t want it.” 

Elliott snickers. “Keep it. It might come in handy. And besides, I’m already taken care of, with my monthly potions.” 

That’s right--Kurt had forgotten Elliott is a reborn, and already in transition, if his frame and stubbled face are any judge. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to--” 

“No problem,” Elliott says. “So. One month, huh? Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” 

“I hope so,” Kurt says, “because I’ll need your help, playing nice with my dad this next month.” 

“Oh, we’ll get you through it,” Elliott says. “Don’t worry about that one bit.”


	10. Chapter 10

Over the next few weeks, Kurt lets himself be well-behaved Prince Kurt, the prize of the kingdom. He is well-educated and a handsome boy, if considered a little odd by most. He dresses nicely and is always clean, except when he’s on the practice field, slicing away at practice dummies and gleaming with sweat. He does what he’s told and keeps himself in check, for the most part.

And for the most part, he is well-liked. He doesn’t delve too much into politics--the bare minimum, for the sake of his father, and he remains neutral on any topic he’s called to weigh in on. His moderation has gotten him by rather well, though it has drawn the ire of his father on more than one occasion when it has been at odds with Burt’s views on this or that matter. Still, he manages to stay in the king’s good graces. For the most part. 

But he attracts notice, certainly. In court, he’s the subject of many whispers that follow him as he takes his seat next to his father. He knows all of them--that he is frigid, that he strings along Prince Adam and intends only to get as much attention as possible, that he has secret lovers that he sneaks in at night, and plenty besides. Court is rife with gossip of all sorts, but Kurt can live with that--very seldom do the rumors ever come close to the truth. 

Only one gets to him. Whispers of a woman, and his father. 

“I’ve had more offers for your hand,” Burt says one day, as they go over notes from court in his office. “Some delegates are coming to court tomorrow to inquire. Are you content with Adam?” 

“You know I’m not,” Kurt replies. “But I’m not interested in any offers right now.” 

“I’m not going to be around forever, you know.” 

“I think you can wait until I’m eighteen at least. I can’t inherit until then anyway. And besides, I’m not the only one receiving offers, am I?” 

That gives Burt pause, and Kurt relishes the tense moment. It’s what he’s been dying to confront, what he’s been too careful to bring up until now. But the court whispered of it that morning with increased attention and it’s time to see his father tell the truth. “Excuse me?” 

Kurt shrugs. “Just that I’ve heard rumors. About you and a certain Lady Hudson.” 

Burt drops his papers to the desk. “Kurt, look--” 

Kurt looks up at him--really looks, and sees the guilt. “It’s true, then.” 

“About Carole and me? Yes, we’ve been...negotiating,” Burt says. “She’s a good woman, Kurt.” 

“And her son?” Kurt asks. “Will he replace me?” 

Truth be told, he’s not sure he wants to hear either answer--on one hand, if the young Lord Hudson took the throne, Kurt could be free to go to Blaine. But on the other, Kurt is still Burt’s son, and doesn’t like feeling replaced, like he’s somehow not good enough. It stings, especially with Burt making so little effort to understand Kurt himself, preferring to simply tell him how things are. 

“Replace you?” Burt asks. “Where’d you get that idea? Kurt, you’re my son. You’re my heir. No one’s gonna take that from you.” 

Kurt can’t deny the relief that washes through him, and the tightening in his throat. Burt sighs and looks at him like he can’t understand. 

“Kurt, I don’t know where you get these ideas--” 

“Look, wouldn’t it be easier?” Kurt asks, licking his dry lips. He holds them tight to stop them trembling. “For all of us?” 

Burt comes around the table and puts his hands on Kurt’s shoulders. “I know we’ve had our disagreements, Kurt. And I know you still don’t like how you were sent away as a kid. But you gotta understand, I was doing what I thought was best. I couldn’t take care of you--I could barely get by with your mom around, and after she died I just didn’t know what to do with you. You were unhappy, and you weren’t safe here. Sending you to Blaine was the best option I had. And it doesn’t mean I don’t want you for a son.” 

“I’m not mad that you sent me to Blaine,” Kurt says. And he’s not--if Burt hadn’t, he would never have met Blaine. “I’m mad you took me away from him.” 

Burt’s own mouth goes tight, and he nods, blinking rapidly. “So...I think I gotta ask. Did _you_ replace _me_?” 

It’s Kurt’s turn to blink, but not to hide tears. “Um, no. No, I don’t--Blaine’s not my--I--” 

Gods, Blaine as his _father?_ No. 

But his denial is too quick. Burt looks up at him sharply, crossing his arms. “Wait a minute. Kurt...don’t tell me--” 

“What?” Kurt asks, his voice too high. He doesn’t like that look in his father’s eye. Time for a diversion. “Look, Dad, I can’t stay, I have a date with Adam--” 

“Uh-huh. Go on, tell me another one.” 

“I’m serious, Dad,” Kurt says. “We’re having lunch together.” 

Burt raises an eyebrow. “Kurt. Why are you making nice with Adam if you’re not interested in him?” 

Kurt levels a stare at his father. “ _Someone_ insisted I give him a chance.” 

Burt shakes his head. “Kurt--” 

“Look, I really do have to go,” Kurt says. “Is there anything I need to know before tomorrow?” 

“You need to know if you’re going to entertain another suitor,” Burt says. “So...you want to keep looking for that prince of yours?” 

Kurt feels challenged, but he can’t let his father have a one up on him. He feigns ignorance of what Burt is implying and shrugs. “I have no desire to entertain suitors at all. I’ll inform the delegates of such.” 

“Then it’s up to you to do so,” Burt says. “It’s time you started actively participating, instead of just shadowing me. I’ll be making a list of matters that you will oversee, and since you’re so keen to have your own way, you can manage your own suitors. That means turning people down, and if you’re not willing to entertain political matches, you’re going to be doing that a lot. I’ll have your steward bring you the papers from now on.” 

“Anything else?” 

“I’ll figure out what else to pawn off on you later. Go have lunch with Adam. And Kurt?” 

Kurt raises his eyebrows. 

“Just--don’t string him along,” Burt says. “This isn’t just a political match for him, and I might not know you so well anymore, Kurt, but you’re not cruel. So...don’t act cruelly.” 

His father’s stare is too piercing, so Kurt turns away, nodding. “I’ll remember that.” He pulls the door open, and then, over his shoulder, says, “And so should you.” 

With that arrow loosed, Kurt leaves, catching Elliott standing too close to the door, as he always is. He immediately starts following in Kurt’s wake, his ever-present stack of papers gone. 

“I’ll have to report in later for your new duties,” he says accusingly, “but for now, I need to take the afternoon off.” 

“Why?” Kurt asks. Elliott’s the only positive presence in his life right now, and letting him go feels wrong. 

“Some of us aren’t lucky enough to be born with the body we’re meant for,” Elliott says, eyebrow raised. “I need a new stock of potions, so I have to visit a mage in town.” 

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says, stopping. “Of course. But why don’t we have someone on hand here at the castle? Surely you’re not the only reborn here.” 

Elliott shrugs. “We just have a normal doctor. No magic. Not everyone trusts it, you know.” 

“That should change,” Kurt muses. “What if there’s something a normal doctor can’t handle?” 

“That’s a matter of policy, Prince Kurt. Perhaps you should draft up an appeal and bring it to your father. Or just make the decision yourself, if you’re going to be given certain responsibilities.” 

It hits Kurt then how enormous his life truly will become. He’ll have to deal with things like this every day. And soon--his father is passing down the responsibilities to several of the kingdom’s matters, and he’ll have to make decisions that could affect _thousands._ He feels as though he’s floating in time, looking at himself as though from a distance, and the moment sears itself into him. 

“I’m going to be king one day,” he says, his voice hollow. “And I have no idea how to do it.” 

“That’s why your father is giving you more duties I assume,” Elliott says. “He’s good at his job, Kurt, you have to give him that.” 

“He’s good at being king,” Kurt corrects. 

Elliott shakes his head. “He loves you.” 

“We’re not going to discuss this,” Kurt says. “We’ll see just how much he loves me when the month is up. For now...go. I have a _suitor_ to entertain.” 

“You mean a suitor to let down,” Elliott says. “Your father just gave his blessing for you to tell Adam to beat it.” 

Kurt’s eyes widen. “He did, didn’t he. Do you think--” 

“I think you need to be honest,” Elliott says. “But we’re not discussing anything, remember?” 

“What does that have to do with--” 

“I’m off to town,” Elliott says. “I’ll be back before you know it.” 

With a whirl, he walks away, leaving Kurt standing there gaping after him. Kurt’s not stupid--he knows exactly what Elliott wants, and has wanted this whole time--he’s wanted Kurt to come clean with his father. He doesn’t say it outright, but Kurt knows. But it’s not time yet. He has to talk to Blaine first. 

If Blaine even wants to talk to him, that is. It’s been weeks and no word, not a single letter or note. And Kurt hasn’t dared send his own, but surely Blaine has the freedom to speak to Kurt if he wishes? Even just to wish him well? But he’s remained silent, and Kurt aches for him more and more with every passing day. And only his dreams help. 

They’re odd, his dreams. They continue on as they started--dreams of flying, usually, though sometimes Kurt dreams of walking through flames without a single burn, or of breathing smoke as though it were clean air. He feels the fire in his bones, in these dreams, feels it licking through his body, fueling him. He’s powerful then, and it feels like Blaine is all around him, surrounding him, _present._

Or even worse, he dreams of touches, warm and gentle from roughened hands, drawing lightly over his skin. Lips, all over his body, dropping down, down, twisting his body into his sheets with the intensity of it, the images of a man-- _his_ man--between his thighs, or wrapped around him, _inside_ him. These dreams are the realest of all, and without fail Kurt aches upon their fading, enough to need attention instantly. 

But when he wakes, no matter the dream, it’s like he just missed Blaine in the room. Like Blaine had been watching him sleep and slipped away before Kurt opened his eyes. Without fail it reminds Kurt of the nights he felt unsafe and ended up in Blaine’s bed, curled up against his warm scales. 

But he can’t feel safe now. He has to go be courted by a Prince, and now--yes, he has to let this Prince down. A sweet, gentle, kind man that Kurt finds he doesn’t want to hurt, not really. But he has to--he knows what his heart wants. The dreams are proof enough of that. 

\-- 

Adam’s face looks drawn when Kurt finishes, having started the moment they sat down at Kurt’s breakfast table in his rooms. 

“So...there is no chance, then,” Adam says. 

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says sincerely. “But my heart is...elsewhere.” 

“With Blaine.” 

Said so plainly, it shocks Kurt. “I’m sorry?” 

“Your heart is with Blaine,” Adam says. “Kurt, I’m not stupid. I saw the way you looked at him, the way you spoke to each other.” 

All Kurt hears is _to each other_. Blaine spoke to _him_ that way, it’s not all in Kurt’s head, is it-- 

“But Kurt. There--there’s something you should know, before you promise yourself away.” 

Kurt blinks. “What’s that?” 

“Blaine--Blaine isn’t waiting for you,” Adam says. “He’s...he’s taken on another foster. A young man, actually--the son of one of your father’s barons.” 

All in an instant Kurt’s body fills with ice. Kurt has been waiting all this time, would wait forever, and Blaine--but now Adam wants to imply something, in that he’s taking on a young _man_? The ice is rage, and Kurt lets it still his body like a predator sighting prey. Adam has overstepped a line. 

“You think--you think Blaine is in the _habit_ of having feelings for his fosters?” 

Adam sighs. “I don’t think he’s in the habit of it at all, Kurt. But you can’t deny one thing--he’s not waiting for you. He’s moved on.” 

The ice turns from rage to fear, tightening in on itself, freezing his veins rather than moving through them. Now he couldn’t move if he wanted to. 

“That--no, you can’t know that,” Kurt says. And he can’t--Adam doesn’t _know_ Blaine, not like Kurt knows him. He wouldn’t just _abandon_ Kurt. “Just because he’s continued doing his job while I’m stuck here--” 

“Kurt, you’re not going to be able to leave,” Adam says. “You’re the heir.” 

“I could visit him!” Kurt says. “I’ve behaved myself, surely my father--” 

“What? Kurt, your father is the reason you weren’t allowed to stay with Blaine. Do you think he doesn’t know?” 

Kurt stomach goes heavy and drops. “No. He doesn’t know, and even if he did--what--” 

“Kurt, just--hear me out, okay?” At Kurt’s nod, Adam says, “Blaine wouldn’t take a foster if he had any hope of seeing you. A foster is a responsibility that takes _years._ By the time he became free once more from that responsibility, you will be long married.” 

Kurt shakes his head instantly. “No. No, I’ll wait, I’ll wait forever if I have to--” 

“Your father will marry you by eighteen whether you want him to or not,” Adam says. “And he certainly won’t allow you to marry a _dragon_. Do you even know how long they live? He’d be crowned and king forever, and there are no documented cases of dragons even having normal children with humans, you might never be able to produce heirs--” 

“No,” Kurt says again. But he can hear the truth in the words, and he hates it. “No, Adam--” 

“Kurt, please,” Adam says. “Blaine--I know you care for him, but he isn’t even a choice for you.” He takes Kurt’s hand across the table. “But me--Kurt, I’m right here.” 

Kurt looks at their hands, and then at Adam’s eyes, earnestly staring into his own, pleading with him. He believes everything he says--and if that’s so--but no, he has to talk to Blaine somehow, before it’s too late; he has to _know_ \--Blaine has to tell him, he can’t just assume-- 

“How long until Blaine takes his new foster?” Kurt asks, his voice barely rising above a whisper. 

“I don’t know,” Adam says. “We got the news last week, so it should be by the end of the month.” 

“That’s a week away,” Kurt says, standing. “Adam--look, I like you, okay? You’re very sweet. But I have to--I have to try. I have to _try._ Do you understand?” 

Adam stares at him, silent for several long moments, and then he swallows, nods. “What will you do?” 

“I’m going to send him a letter,” Kurt says. “I’ll send our fastest courier. And--and if he doesn’t reply by the end of the month--” He takes a deep breath. “Then--then I’ll reconsider.” 

It’s a gamble, but Kurt has to _know_. He has to know first. He has to talk to Blaine. Adam has to give him that, he _has_ to. 

“One week,” Adam says. “Kurt, I hope--” He breaks off, and then rises, shaking his head. “I will leave you to write your letter.” 

As soon as he leaves, Kurt rushes to his desk and dips a quill. 

_My dearest Blaine…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hang in there!


	11. Chapter 11

Kurt finds himself adept at his newly augmented court duties, much as they stifle him. Within the very first week of his father foisting off responsibility onto him, Kurt has made significant changes and has had to oversee the drafting of several new policies, including the one he’d suggested to Elliott--the assignment of a mage to the palace, a policy that has caused a minor uproar.

“--and I feel it is a gross mistake to allow magic in your court, Highness,” a supplicant is saying, addressing Kurt directly, as his father had retired at the end of the normal court roster and left Kurt to deal with this matter on his own. “It is unreliable and wrong in the eyes of the gods--” 

“Which gods?” Kurt asks, projecting past the tightness in his chest. “There are also several gods who are patron to magic arts.” 

“Highness, please--” 

“Just as we have an advisor on religious matters, we should also have an advisor on magical ones,” Kurt says, struggling to sound neutral. The fact is, he’d already had to go over this very matter in the request for approval from his father--several religious sects shun magic entirely, and a ruler has to consider that. Burt had made him redraft with his arguments three times before he’d accepted it. Now he has to face it again and again from _idiots_. “This does not mean magic will be practiced wildly within the palace. We are interviewing discreet and responsible practitioners this very day, and we will make sure whomever we select will not endanger anyone’s morals in their practice.” 

“Their very existence endangers our morals--” 

“Some would say that about modern medicine as well,” Kurt says. “Would you deny its benefits to the palace?” 

“Highness--” 

“The decision has been made.” Kurt swallows and looks up past the man’s head. “Next.” 

Elliott leans down as the man bows stiffly and backs away. “We have--one applicant, your highness. For the position of court mage.” 

Kurt nods. It’s not as many as he’d hoped--he’d hoped for _anything_ more than one, actually, but at least the number isn’t zero. “Very well then. Send them forward.” 

Elliott straightens. “Unique. Come forward.” 

A plump woman strides forward from the dwindling crowd, clad in black and gold silks, jewels in her nose and ears, eyelids gilded and lips shining with gloss. “Your highness. Unique is here.” 

“Yes,” Kurt says, eyeing her with approval. She’s dressed floridly, boldly, and Kurt approves of her style and her confidence as she faces him with a playful smile. “How long have you been practicing magic?” 

“All my life,” she says. “I have a natural gift for it. Been mixing potions and casting spells since before I knew what they really were.” 

“Impressive. And your training--” 

“At the College. I have letters of recommendation from the grand mage and several of my tutors.” 

“And years of study--” 

“Eight, now,” she says. “I’m particularly adept at alchemy and restoration spells, though I’ve passed all my tests in all schools of magic.” 

“And practical applications?” 

“I haven’t had a chance to test my mettle in the world yet, but Unique is good at what Unique does, your highness. I won’t let you down.” 

Kurt nods. That’s what he needs to know publicly--Elliott can inquire about potions for himself later, as can any of the reborn in the palace. Who knows, Kurt might even visit her himself--mages train in divination and dream interpretation, perhaps his dreams mean something-- 

There’s a murmur in the crowd as Kurt sits back. He eyes them with a raised eyebrow. 

“I assume any and all issues with this matter will be handled in the proper manner,” he says, seeing several people shaking their heads and muttering unhappily. He turns back to Unique. “You have my approval. You’ll need to present yourself to the king tomorrow. Elliott, can you--” 

“I’ll inform his steward this evening,” Elliott says. 

Kurt nods to Unique again. “Very well. You may go.” 

“Thank you, your highness,” Unique says, sweeping a low bow. 

She backs away and then returns to her place, and the grumbling rises. Kurt distinctly hears the word _abomination_. 

He can’t take this kind of disgusting attitude. He stands, his breath coming quick. 

“Kurt,” Elliott hisses. “Don’t--” 

“Magic is as much a part of this kingdom as the gods,” Kurt says. “The gods approve and disapprove of many things. If I were to please every god, half of you would not even be welcome in court. I urge you to remember that when you submit your supplications.” 

With that, he turns and leaves as quickly as dignity allows, heart hammering in his ears. As soon as he’s out of sight of the court, he bolts, taking to a run through the palace until he blows past the guards in the garden, who make no move to stop him as he flies to the fountain and skids to a stop before the rose bushes. 

He holds himself, arms crossed over his chest, shaking. His breath feels like it will never come back, and he heaves for it, tears leaking from his eyes. 

“You’re fine,” he hisses at himself. “Stop it. You are fine.” 

He wipes his eyes and sits himself down on the lip of the fountain, sighing and slowing his breath bit by bit. Finally, he settles, staring at the dust on his boots and wishing, wishing he were somewhere else-- 

How can he do this every day? How can he eventually do it on his own, or with a _stranger_ by his side? How can he do this at all? Face the judgment and the sheer _idiocy_ and the sneering of the crowd? 

“Kurt, we need to talk.” 

Kurt lifts his head. Elliott stands fidgeting before him around the papers stacked in his arms. Kurt sniffs, wipes his face with his hands, and nods. 

“Yes. What’s next?” 

“I need to talk...just us, first,” Elliott says, approaching and sitting beside Kurt on the lip of the fountain. “About what happened in there.” 

“Which part?” Kurt asks through the wry twist of his mouth. 

“Look...we both know magic is controversial,” Elliott says. “But--you seem to have misunderstood something in there. When...when that awful man called Unique an abomination?” 

Kurt nods slowly. “What about it?” 

“It wasn’t because of her magic,” Elliott says. “It’s because she’s reborn. Like me.” 

Kurt blinks. “But--but why? You aren’t abominations, what are they thinking--” 

“The world isn’t like the palace, Kurt,” Elliott says. “You’ve been sheltered--first as a child, and then by your solitude at your castle, but...this is the real world now. Not everyone thinks we’re… _natural._ ” 

“Well...who is natural, then?” Kurt asks. “It doesn’t make any sense--” 

“I know it doesn’t,” Elliott says. “But they believe it. They don’t understand, so they claim we’re abominations and they revile anything outside of their rigid, arbitrary rules.” 

“Is this a religious matter again?” Kurt asks. “They kept mentioning the gods--” 

“Sometimes,” Elliott says. “Some holy texts mention reborns being put to death and the like, and they like to use that to justify their hate. But really, it’s just...ignorance.” 

“I should write a law,” Kurt says. “Banning that--” 

“Banning what? Stupidity?” Elliott asks. “Kurt, you wouldn’t have enough cells to fit the crime. Just...be aware, and know that you’ll have to fight these people all your life. They’ll want you to make laws for whatever they hate each day and you’ll have to stand for what’s right. What _you_ believe.” 

“But what if I’ve been taught something wrong?” Kurt asks. “If there are people out there who think that way about you, what about--what about me, people like me? What about--” 

“Kurt, just...there’s no way to be entirely right all the time, just--treat people fairly,” Elliott says. 

“I intend to,” Kurt says, standing. “But I will be writing something up about this. A proclamation, or a treatise, or _something._ I can do that, can’t I?” 

“If you like,” Elliott says with a sigh. “But for now, you have meetings. First we have to meet with the chief priest about renovations to the grand temple, and then we’ll meet with Unique to go over her duties, and then your father wants to see you this afternoon--” 

Kurt nods along with the list that seems ever-growing, but his mind is with the dull twisting in his heart that started with the word _abomination_ and doesn’t seem to be stopping. 

\-- 

When he tries to sleep that night, he remains jittery and wound up and, above all, distracted, his head jumping from topic to topic as he circles his real worry. It starts with worries about the decisions he’d made throughout the day, and jumps to the chief priest’s coldness, to Unique’s warmth and eagerness, to--to court, gods, with the grumbling of the crowd, and that’s what truly bothers him. 

_Abomination._ If that’s what Unique is, what Elliott is, then what is Kurt? They really aren’t so different. Kurt is a male with parts that made his parents think him female when he was born. He was mistaken for a female for _years_ , and he’s lucky it didn’t continue past that, or he’s not sure what damage could have been done. In accepting his gender as a carrier, instead of being forced to choose male or female, he’s been given freedom, and he knows not everyone has that. He aches to think of Elliott, and now Unique, born to bodies they didn’t feel at home in, knowing inside themselves that something had to change. Kurt’s never felt he needed to _change_ anything about himself, but he knows that some people would think differently. There are sects of religion that believe there are only two genders, rather than five; only male and female, excluding carriers (male and female, who carry the other gender’s parts), reborns, and _others_ , who declare themselves outside of the other four. 

These have been taught to him his whole life. But there are people--outside his experience until now--that have been taught differently. They’ve been taught that there is something wrong with three types of people. They’ve been taught to hate. And Kurt lies in his bed and doesn’t understand them, these people over whom he will have to rule, just like everybody else. 

How is he going to deal with that? He can’t just force everyone to believe what he knows to be right. They think they’re right and he’s wrong, and Kurt has a suspicion they won’t be convinced just because he’s royalty and their future ruler. If he wants to bring his people together, if he wants to face down that hatred, he’s going to have to know what he’s talking about and know how to handle the resistance against him. 

And then, in the midst of imagining this, he realizes that he’s truly concerned about his kingdom for the first time in his life. 

He laughs at the thought. He’d been resistant until now, hating his role in life, only wanting to return to his love. But he’s been selfish, he sees--this is bigger than he is, and he needs to face that. He is bigger than what he feels himself to be. He’s a prince--he will be king. He needs to own that. 

Not that he’ll give up on Blaine, of course. Never that. 

Gods, he misses Blaine so much. He misses his warmth, his smile--either one, dragon or human. He misses the slant of his horns and the gleam of his scales, he misses his warm breath and the way he ruffled Kurt’s hair. He misses his hands, strong against him, showing him how to move a sword, how to stand, how to hold still. He misses his arms, felt only once, circled around him, holding him safe and tight. He misses his lips, _gods_ he does, the softness, the catch against his own. 

Kurt feels himself sinking into the bed, hands smoothing unconsciously up and down his own thighs. He moves them inward, spreading his legs and feeling the smoothness of the insides, leading up, up. 

Touching himself feels like relief, even as he feels his body growing more and more agitated. He knows this--he knows his body, he knows that when he finishes, he will relax, unload himself of his burdens and simply be able to _feel_ , and he anticipates it eagerly as he pets up his warm lips and presses down over his clit. 

His back arches, his knees fall to the sides, and he rocks down into his hand, head thrown back onto his pillow. What would he do if Blaine were here, touching him now, rather than if he were alone? How would his body open for Blaine, how would Blaine make him feel? How would his hands move, where would his lips land? 

The thoughts make Kurt nervous, actually. As well acquainted as he is with his own body, the thought of sex still excites his nerves. The things he knows--how _dirty_ some of the things Elliott had said _seemed_. He doesn’t want that. He wants romance. He’s still not entirely sure how to connect what he does with himself to that, but he knows he wants Blaine to show him. 

Yes, _that’s_ it. Blaine would kiss him, hold him close, caress him gently. He’d touch Kurt slowly, gently, _yes_ , _right_ there. He’d take Kurt like a tide--slow surging but inevitable, pushing against him, into him, filling him, drowning him. 

His fingers move faster against himself, he spreads his legs, pulls them upwards, uses them as impetus to rock down some more, to roll his hips in smooth circles that are in rhythm against his hand. He pants, gasping for breath on each inhale, mouth hanging open, eyes clenched shut as he imagines. He could hold Blaine against him as he moved above Kurt, his weight a steady presence as it shifted with him. And--and he’d _stretch_ Kurt, fill him, make him--make him spread and take it and--and-- 

Kurt bites his lip when he comes, his body clenching and spasming, a cramp forming in his foot as he curls his toes too hard. He hisses, stretching it automatically as he gently eases his fingers to a halt, feelings the wetness against their tips. He gingerly reaches downward, feels the dampness around his hole, and shudders. No, he won’t do anything more tonight--he needs his rest. 

_Knock knock knock._

Kurt groans, rolling out of bed and pulling his nightshirt to rights before rushing to his water bowl and rinsing his hands quickly. He barely pats them dry before another knock sounds, and he hurries to the door. 

“Yes?” he says as he opens it. It’s Elliott, and Kurt feels annoyed. “What is it?” 

“Kurt, I--” He clears his throat. “I have something for you. I thought...I thought it shouldn’t wait.” 

“What is it?” Kurt asks, heart hammering in a way that has nothing to do with his recent activities. “Is it--Elliott, is it from Blaine? Please--” 

“I’m--I’m sorry, Kurt,” Elliott says, handing Kurt a letter, its wax seal still closed and too familiar. “It came back tonight--” 

“This--” Kurt tears around the wax, opens and reads the parchment. “This is my letter. Didn’t Blaine get it?” 

“It was delivered,” Elliott says. “But--Kurt, it was given back unopened. Blaine--Blaine didn’t read it.”


	12. Chapter 12

The dreams are torture, now, knowing that they will never come true.

Flying suddenly feels like falling. The fire suddenly burns, the smoke chokes him. Kurt wakes in a sweat, gasping for breath. He is no longer a wind-bound warrior, safe on the back of his dragon--he is dropped, discarded, cast aside. And that is only when he is asleep. 

When he wakes, he feels desiccated. His very self is drained dry, a husk of what it once was. All his hope has leaked away through the cracks he can’t hide anymore. The cracks that formed when he realizes that Blaine was never going to come for him. 

He’s been waiting to be rescued all this time. This is his true prison--his court is the true dragon, keeping him from true love and freedom. But no one is coming to rescue him. There will be no fairy tale ending. No one is coming for him. He made it all up in his head. 

There is nothing for him to do but continue, though. He knows nothing else but to continue, survive. Everything else inside him shuts down, and he lives one minute at a time, because he cannot handle knowing that there is more to the future than that--just one more moment to survive. He cannot imagine a future, knowing that he will have to face it alone. 

People notice, but intervention is minimal. Elliott asks how he is, but seems to think letting it run its course is the wisest action. Little does he know that the aching emptiness in Kurt does not ebb. And his father bears him in silence, offering only rough pats on the back and gruff squeezes of his shoulder, which do nothing, of course. The rest just gossip--who has broken the young prince’s heart? 

The news brings Adam the very first day after the return of his letter. 

The moment he sees Kurt in the hallways, he reaches out his hands and takes Kurt’s in them. 

“Something horrible seems to have happened, and I feel responsible,” he says, his concern genuine. “Am I? Have I horribly hurt you?” 

“No, it’s--no,” Kurt says. No, there’s no doubt who’s hurt him, and Adam may have instigated the events leading up to it, but he didn’t hurt Kurt intentionally or directly. But Kurt knows what he wants. “But I’m going to ask that you please give me some time. I can’t just…” 

He trails off, uncertain as to what to say. He can’t just get over this--but saying that implies he might eventually. Kurt’s not sure he will, not in the time frame Adam and his father want. He’s not even sure how to make it through one day at this point. 

“I understand,” Adam says, breaking Kurt’s dilemma over what to say. “I don’t expect you to just fall into my arms, Kurt, much as I would personally like that.” He smiles a sweet little playful smile. “I don’t expect _anything_ from you. If you never come to me, that’s your right. I just hope you’ll consider it.” 

He lifts Kurt’s hands up and kisses his knuckles, just a soft brush of his lips and then he lowers and releases them. And without another word, he brushes past Kurt, hand on his arm for an instant before he’s gone, leaving Kurt to himself again. 

It doesn’t help, though. Kurt just wades through each day as though in thigh-deep water, pushing himself one step at a time. There’s no way he can go back, now--there is nothing behind him but lies. Ahead, he may dive into the murky waters--he may take another courtship, marry, breed, rule. All for duty, and not for his heart, which beats still and steady in his chest as though it hadn’t been shattered. 

But he’s still needed. He still has duties; he still has responsibilities. 

“Highness?” 

Kurt blinks. He’d been lost in melancholy, and he realizes he barely remembers any of the meeting he’s currently in with Unique. He smiles up at her, apologetic, hands trembling faintly. 

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says. “Could you repeat that?” 

Unique raises an eyebrow. “I think we’d better talk about something else besides my quarrels with some bumpkin priests.” 

“What do you mean?” Kurt asks. 

“Do you need something?” Unique says. “I’ve got some potions that can help you if you can’t focus, or if you’re down. I know something’s wrong.” 

Gods, has he been that far gone? Does he need magical intervention? Can a potion even heal a broken heart, or treat its symptoms? And can he rely on that when he should be getting himself back together on his own? No, he can’t take that kind of help to escape his problems--he needs to _deal_ with them. He can’t be that bad. 

“No,” he says. “I’m sorry. I have been distracted, but I’ll be fine.” 

Unique looks him up and down, dubious, and then nods to the mirror over the fireplace of the study they’re in. “You sure about that?” 

Kurt turns, and faces himself. And then he sees what Unique sees. 

He’s paler than usual. His skin has a greyish tinge to it that wasn’t there before, and he looks exhausted, bags under his eyes. His face looks like it’s falling as well, fighting the pull of the earth to stay up. He’s not okay; he _is_ that bad. 

“Maybe I could use some rest,” Kurt suggests weakly, shaken. 

“Well, get it, then,” Unique says. “I’ll mix you up a sleeping potion so you’ll get a good night’s rest. Dreamless sleep can do wonders.” 

“Dreamless?” Kurt asks, suddenly very interested. “Did you say dreamless?” 

Unique casts a shrewd eye on him. “That’s right. Been having some troubling nights?” 

“You could say that,” Kurt sighs. “Look--what were we talking about? I’ll focus, I promise, and you can give me that potion afterward.” 

“We were talking about the latest supplications from some priests in the province. The ones who don’t believe in magic.” 

“Yes. I’m going to be drafting a proclamation on magic. Or a pamphlet, really. Just a little treatise on its benefits and some arguments against it being evil.” 

“ _Just_ a treatise? And you yourself are going to write it?” Unique asks. “Why not let your steward or your political advisors handle it?” 

“Because it’s my job,” Kurt says. 

“But are you up for it?” 

There it is. He’s gone enough that people are questioning his leadership. And they have every right--he’s been moping for weeks, ever since the letter was returned unopened. It’s obviously taking its toll on him, and now it’s affecting his duties, duties that are important to him. 

He can’t keep doing this. 

“Give me the sleeping potion,” Kurt says. “I’ll go to bed right away, and then we can reconvene tomorrow to discuss it when I’m rested. How about that?” 

Unique grins. “That’s an idea I like.” 

\-- 

He sleeps. It’s dreamless. And the next morning, he doesn’t feel Blaine haunting him like he has every morning after the dreams. 

Kurt gets up, and he goes about his day. He meets with Unique, and he sees how much he’s really needed. Unique cannot handle the priests protesting on her own--she doesn’t have the power. But he does, and his word will carry weight when he uses it. So he spends all afternoon and evening in his own study, and then he calls a meeting with his father. 

“So what couldn’t wait, Kurt?” Burt asks, already in his dressing gown for the night, looking strange sitting behind his desk like that. 

“I wrote a treatise on magic in our kingdom,” Kurt says, handing Burt several pages filled with his writing, messy and scribbled and crossed out and written over, but finished. “I want it published and sent to every institution, religious and magical, as soon as possible.” 

Burt blinks and stares down at the pages. “I’ve heard something about this, yeah. And you want to take it on?” 

“I’ve already taken it on,” Kurt says. “I hired a mage, remember?” 

“Yeah, but...this is further than that, Kurt. This is a real diplomatic conversation you’re trying to have here, and you’ll have to follow through this to the end. That means negotiations, treaties, probably a lot of arguing and anger. Are you ready to handle the political fallout?” 

“Political fallout?” 

“You think a king doesn’t need popular support?” Burt asks. “Kurt, you know better than that. You stir this up, you have to be willing to make sure it ends without a disaster, like the temples ceding from your rule, or declaring you a demon, or whatever else they might say. The temples have power, Kurt. So you have to commit to pleasing them as well as the Mages’ College.” 

“I’m willing,” Kurt says with certainty. “I’ll find a middle ground.” 

Burt looks up at him, and for the first time, Kurt sees _pride_ in his father’s eyes. 

“You know, I know you’ve been having a hard time,” Burt says. “And don’t think I don’t know why. I’m real proud of you, Kurt. For pulling yourself up and getting on with your life. And I’m proud of you for believing in something like this, and standing up for it.” 

Kurt feels his lip tremble, and suddenly tears spring to his eyes in a single, prickling moment. 

“I--I thought--” he chokes out, breaking off. 

“I don’t know what you thought,” Burt says, after Kurt remains silent for long moments. “But I love you, Kurt. You’re my son.” He stands, circles the desk, and draws Kurt into his arms. “I wish I could give you what you want. I wish you had more freedom, the freedom to do what you want to do. It’s been tough on me, to watch you suffer like this. I’ve always tried to do right by you.” 

Kurt can’t hold onto his bitterness anymore, not when his father’s arms are around him, warm and strong. He returns the hug, allowing himself to sink into the support. “I just wanted you to hear me.” 

“I’m sorry if I didn’t,” Burt says. He pulls back. “Kurt, I’m not going to make you marry anyone, okay? You can have the time you need to figure it out on your own. I can’t promise things will be easy, but--I can’t force you to get engaged if you don’t want it. You know that, right?” 

“I think I do now,” Kurt says, wiping his eyes. “I’m sorry I’ve been fighting.” 

“I know why you did,” Burt says, and Kurt flushes. “Yeah. I know. I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you.” 

“Can we not talk about that?” Kurt asks, sniffling. “Thank you.” 

“Okay,” Burt says. He nods to the desk, where Kurt’s treatise lies. “I’ll get that to a scribe who can fix it up, and we’ll see what we can do about getting it distributed.” 

“Thank you, Dad.” 

“Will you do me a favor, though?” Burt asks. 

Kurt nods. “Okay. What?” 

Burt smiles. “Give Adam another chance, okay?” He pats Kurt’s shoulder. “He--he really cares about you.” 

There’s nothing to hold him back now, as far as Burt knows. Does he even realize how deep Kurt’s love for Blaine went? Probably not. Kurt has held so much back from his father. But it’s not doing him any good now, his love. It’s abandoned him, and he could use something steady. 

Maybe it’s time for a change. 

“I’ll think about it.” 

\-- 

Kurt really thinks about it. And in the meantime, Adam is quietly, assuredly _there._ He visits Kurt, and sends him gifts, and smiles at Kurt when he’s standing in the crowd during court. He dines with Kurt, and jokes with him, and encourages Kurt in every endeavor he takes on. He’s a steady presence, and Kurt feels his resolve wavering. 

It helps that he no longer dreams, and thus no longer feels like he’s connected with Blaine by them. Not with a steady supply of sleeping potions from Unique. 

One morning, just after he wakes especially refreshed, Adam arrives at Kurt’s room early. 

“I’d like to escort you to court,” Adam says. “It’s a small one today, and I hoped we could lunch together afterward.” 

Kurt smiles at Adam. “I would enjoy that,” he says. “Shall we go?” 

Adam offers his arm, and Kurt hesitates for only a moment before taking it. Why not. 

“You know, I read your treatise,” Adam says on their way. “I was rather impressed at your arguments.” 

“Really?” Kurt asks, lighting up. It meant a lot to him, _means_ a lot to him, and he’s excited that Adam is willing to discuss it with him. “Oh, I’m glad. I worked hard on it.” 

“I don’t know how anyone could argue with it, actually,” Adam replies. 

“Oh, I’m sure they will anyway,” Kurt says, and Adam laughs. 

“Oh yes, I’m sure they will.” 

At the corner of the hallway, Adam takes Kurt’s hand and kisses it. “I’ll see you in there?” 

“Of course,” Kurt says. Adam smiles, and leaves down the adjacent hallway to enter court from the main entrance, leaving Kurt to enter the back way, closest to his seat beside the throne. He heads that way, finding that he kind of looks forward to seeing Adam’s smiling face amidst the sea of frowns. 

“What are you smiling about?” Elliott asks when he arrives and takes his seat next to his father, who’s busy with his own steward. 

“Nothing,” Kurt says, fixing his face into neutrality. “Just...having a good morning.” 

“Oh, I bet you are,” Elliott says. “I know who brought you here.” 

“Stop,” Kurt says. “Don’t tease about it, please.” 

“Sorry,” Elliott says. “I’m just glad you’re starting to feel better.” 

“Well. We’ll see. What’s on the agenda today?” he asks as the crowd starts to fill in. 

“Just a few things. Mostly for your dad. Just sit back and relax.” 

So he does, through an update on some issues on the border and a farmer who demands recompense from the king himself for crops destroyed by marching troops. And then, as Burt consults with his steward between cases, the grand doors open. 

There stands a knight. He enters slowly. He’s clad in a simple breastplate and a helmet, sword at his side. He walks in with his head tilted downward, and strides forward with a measured step. Something about his gait catches Kurt’s attention. 

“This knight wishes to swear fealty to the kingdom,” Burt’s steward announces. “Approach, state your name, and take oath.” 

The knight approaches, and kneels down. Kurt’s heart stutters in his chest. Why-- 

“I swear my undying fealty and my life,” he says, his voice slightly muffled by his helmet. “I lay my sword and fight for only one.” 

Because. Kurt _knows_ that voice. 

“Welcome,” Burt says. “Who might you be?” 

The knight lifts his head, and Kurt sees them--eyes, golden, filled with fire that Kurt knows are in his own. And then he removes his helmet, revealing black curls and pointed horns. A face that Kurt knows, that he’s seen in his dreams and in his heart. 

Kurt would know his dragon anywhere. 

“My name is Brit-luft-aak-nonvul in my own tongue. In your tongue, I am called Blaine. And it is to your Prince that I swear my fealty.”


	13. Chapter 13

It takes every ounce of control Kurt has not to leap out of his seat and run into Blaine’s arms. But now is not the time--not in front of all these people, in front of his father and Elliott and Adam--

Oh, Adam. But Kurt can’t spare him enough heart right now, not with it swollen entirely for the man kneeling before the throne. 

“I’ll accept that oath,” Burt announces. “Though I’d feel more comfortable if you’d renew your previous oaths to me as well, my lord.” 

Blaine bows his head. “Of course, Majesty. I am ever faithful to you and your kingdom.” 

“And you want to swear that fealty to my son,” Burt says. “I think we’d best take this meeting to my private offices, then. Court is dismissed until tomorrow morning.” 

Burt rises and exits the room as his steward motions Blaine up and hurries him from the room as well, and Blaine only spares Kurt a single glance, but Kurt feels it to his core. It’s like a single touch of Blaine’s eyes on his own has reached into the center of him and rung it like a bell, metallic and alive, vibrating inside of him. 

Gods, he wasn’t making it up. He’d been half-afraid that he’d made it all up, but the moment he sees Blaine’s eyes boring into his own, he knows. Their connection is _real_ , and he remains frozen under it for several minutes, allowing himself to feel it filling him. 

And then he realizes, truly feels it as reality. Blaine is _here._

Kurt leaps up, dignity and ensuing rumors be damned, and rushes to follow. He’s not quick enough, though--he arrives just as Burt’s steward is closing the door to Burt’s office behind him, and the stern look he gives Kurt tells him more than words could. He’s not welcome inside yet. 

So he waits. He paces outside the door, nibbling on his thumbnail, wondering what could be going on inside. He feels like his heart is hammering too fast, throbbing in a way that reaches to his fingertips, which pulse with too much energy. 

Blaine is _right there._ Just beyond that door. He’s so close, and it washes over Kurt again and again in waves that leave him feeling too light and tingling and have his stomach swooping. Blaine is right there, close enough to touch, and Kurt might even be able to touch him soon enough. Just a touch of the fingertips would be enough to send him into paroxysms of pleasure. 

He swore fealty to Kurt. The reality of it is almost too much bear. He came for _Kurt_. He really came, and so much doesn’t make sense--why reject his letter, why not send word? Does it even matter? Gods, what matters is what they’re _talking_ about in there. He can only hear the lowest susurration of voices-- 

He’s feet from the door. And he can _hear_ them. Gods, he’s so _stupid_ , Elliott eavesdrops on his father all the time from right here, he can-- 

He approaches the door just in time for it to open in his face. 

Burt’s huff of laughter sounds as Kurt tries to recover from almost being smashed in the face with a heavy wooden door. “Thought you could listen in?” 

“No,” Kurt says automatically. At Burt’s eyebrow, he smiles sheepishly. “Maybe. But I didn’t get to.” 

“Well, you’ll get to hear it all firsthand,” Burt says. “Go on in. But I will be sending Elliott to stand outside, and as soon as you two are done talking he’ll be taking Blaine to his own rooms, and then you and I will be having our own chat. Understood?” 

“Yes,” Kurt says, shaking with the urgency of getting inside, seeing Blaine, _now_. 

Burt smiles. “Go ahead.” 

Kurt needs no further permission. He rushes into the office and finds himself face to face and alone with Blaine for the first time since waking up in his arms. 

“Kurt,” Blaine says, and before the door even clicks shut behind him, Kurt is pulled into Blaine’s arms. 

His kiss is just as Kurt remembers. His lips are soft, his tongue insistent and warm, his breath quick and loud. His arms are strong and tight, and Kurt bends backwards under the force of Blaine’s passion. He clings tightly, kissing back as best he can, mouth open and panting at the complete contact between them. 

“Blaine,” he whimpers, just to say it, and Blaine pulls back. “No, wait--” 

Blaine laughs and presses his forehead to Kurt’s. “We should talk,” he says. 

Kurt kisses him again. “No.” 

“Mmm--yes we should,” Blaine says, pulling away again. “Please, just--sit with me. We need to have this discussion.” 

“But--” 

“I’ll kiss you again as soon as we’ve spoken,” Blaine says. “I promise.” 

He sits in one chair, and gestures to the other. Kurt sinks down, and looks up expectantly. 

“First I should apologize,” Blaine says. “I understand--I understand you believed me to have ignored you. A letter, I was told?” 

Kurt feels a nauseous swirl in his chest at the memory of that rejection, and a spark of anger lights in him. “Yes. I assume you’re going to explain that?” 

“Yes,” Blaine says. “I’m afraid I wasn’t there to receive it, or it would not have been returned to you. But by the time it arrived, I had already left.” 

“Where were you?” 

“I was seeking my replacement,” Blaine says. “Another dragon who could serve your father in my place as a guardian for noble fosters. I had made up my mind to retire from that position.” 

“Why?” Kurt asks. 

Blaine smiles and huffs a small laugh. “There’s a reason I’m free to be here, Kurt. As soon as I found someone, I came straight away.” 

_Oh_. Blaine really did come for him. 

Blaine reaches over and takes Kurt’s hands in his own. “We only have a few minutes to discuss this,” he says. “Can I ask you something? And we’ll talk more later.” 

“Of course.” 

“Have you had any strange dreams?” Blaine asks. “I ask for a reason, I promise.” 

“Yes,” Kurt says. “I was--” 

“Was?” 

“I’ve been taking potions,” Kurt says. “They--they were too much. With you gone.” 

Blaine’s face falls, and he shakes his head. “I am so sorry to have hurt you, Kurt.” 

“What do they mean, Blaine?” Kurt asks. “You said you asked for a reason.” 

“That night we spent together?” Blaine says. Kurt nods. “It seems we started to form a bond.” 

Kurt blinks. “Like...like you bonded to me? In the...dragon way?” 

Blaine smiles. “Yes, essentially. It never fully formed, because--it requires more deliberation than that. But our proximity, and the fact that I remained human all night in your presence...it triggered the start of a bonding. And--I am so sorry that it troubled you. Those dreams were caused by the start of the bond. I had them, too.” 

“What were you dreaming of?” 

“You,” Blaine says. “Being by your side. Flying with you. And...other things.” 

Blaine looks up at Kurt through his eyelashes, and Kurt knows exactly to what Blaine is referring. His heart stammers in his chest, and his skin feels too tight. “Oh.” 

“So...you were taking potions? That’s why--that’s why I couldn’t feel you anymore,” Blaine says. “You severed the connection somewhat, and--I felt it. I--Kurt, you terrified me. I couldn’t feel you anymore.” 

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says. “I’ll stop taking them--I just needed rest--” 

“I understand,” Blaine says. “I don’t blame you at all. And I should have sent word what I was doing, to spare you your pain. Burt--Burt made it very clear how deeply I wounded you.” 

“It’s okay,” Kurt says. He smiles. “Well...not really. I wasn’t okay. But--you’re here now?” 

“Yes,” Blaine says, squeezing Kurt’s hands. “Yes, I’m here. If you’ll have me.” 

Kurt nods. “Blaine--” 

The door behind them opens, and Burt strides in. 

“Okay,” he says. “That’s enough for now. Blaine, Elliott’s outside. He’ll take you to your rooms.” 

Blaine lifts Kurt’s hands to his lips and kisses them hard. “I’ll see you soon,” he says. He rises, and Kurt struggles not to follow as he bows to Burt and then departs. 

“Kurt?” 

Kurt turns to face his father, and tears spill over his face. 

“Dad?” 

Burt sinks into the chair Blaine abandoned and reaches over to squeeze Kurt’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” 

Kurt nods, wiping his eyes. “I’m more than okay. Dad--” 

“I know,” Burt says. “I think I know what you’re going to say already. But I have to ask--is he who you choose?” 

“Yes,” Kurt says without hesitation. “Dad, yes.” 

Burt sighs. “There’s a lot we need to negotiate. This is unheard of, Kurt. There’s no precedent.” 

“I know,” Kurt says. “But we can figure it out, right? Please, Dad, this is all I want--” 

“I know,” Burt says again. “You do know he’s three hundred years old, right? And you’re only sixteen.” 

“I do know that.” 

“I’m just saying,” Burt says. “And there’s the matter of lifespan--dragons live thousands of years--” 

“I know,” Kurt says. “Maybe it’s easier on me because I’ll never have to live without him.” 

“You should consider that,” Burt says. “It’s not fair to him.” 

“I’ll talk to him about it.” 

“And I can’t have a man on the throne who doesn’t die,” Burt says. “If you two marry, there will have to be a marriage contract.” 

“That’s fine,” Kurt says. “I’m sure he’d agree to it.” 

“And kids,” Burt says. “We don’t know if you can have them.” 

“We can try,” Kurt says, suddenly nervous. “And if not...we’ll discuss back-up plans. It’s a bit early to worry about that, I think.” 

“Not for me,” Burt says. “We’re deciding your entire future right now, Kurt.” 

“And I have no time to think about this?” 

“You said you were sure you wanted him,” Burt reminds him. “This is what that means, Kurt. Decisions have to be made.” 

“Can--can I have a few days?” Kurt asks. “You’ve told me, now. I want to discuss it with Blaine.” 

Burt nods. “You’re growing up,” he says simply, and Kurt smiles. “You’re not going to need me anymore soon, are you?” 

“I think I will for a little while longer,” Kurt says, and Burt smiles at him. 

“Go,” Burt says. “I know you want to see him. Just--behave?” 

“I will,” Kurt promises. 

\-- 

When he leaves, it’s not Elliott or Blaine he finds waiting for him. It’s Adam. 

“Adam,” Kurt says, shutting his father’s office door behind him. “Hi.” 

“Hello,” Adam says, smiling sadly. “I--I believe our time together is over, then?” 

Kurt’s heart aches for him. “I’m so sorry, Adam. But it’s always been him.” 

Adam nods. “I know. I had simply hoped--” He sighs. “Perhaps that was my mistake.” 

Something in Kurt’s chest twists. “Adam--” 

“I wish you all the best,” he says. “I’m happy you have found your happiness, at least.” 

Kurt reaches for him and pulls him into a hug. “Thank you. For everything.” 

Adam embraces him tightly, and then releases him. “I would do it again, Kurt.” He smiles. “I’ll let you go. Go to him.” 

Kurt grins. “Thank you.” 

He’s sure Adam watches him as he leaves, but he has something more to think about now. _Blaine_ is waiting for him. 

He doesn’t seek out Blaine’s chambers, though. He heads to his own. He needs to change--into something better, more fitting, something grand and handsome that makes him look older. He hadn’t realized this morning when he dressed--but no matter now, there’s time, and he wouldn’t know where to search for Blaine anyway. He’ll just have to trust that he can send someone to fetch Elliott as a guide soon enough. 

But when he enters his rooms, he stops in shock. 

“Kurt,” Blaine says, rising from a chair by his fireplace. 

“Blaine?” Kurt asks. “What are you doing here?” 

“Thank Elliott,” Blaine says. “Can we--can we have a moment alone?” 

Kurt reaches out, and Blaine reaches back, tangling their hands between them and approaching. 

“Yes.”


	14. Chapter 14

Before Blaine has a chance to say more, though, Kurt steps forward, into Blaine’s space.

He trembles as he says, “Kiss me.” 

Blaine obliges. His lips move steadily over Kurt’s, as though he’s repeating a pattern--top lip, lower lip, open and close, tilt and rock in and out. Kurt follows, learning, picking it up as he goes, falling into the pattern with Blaine until the pattern isn’t needed anymore, and he pulls back. 

“Can we--” He hesitates, unsure if he’s being too forward. He just wants to _feel_ Blaine, fulfill all those dreams and fantasies now that he has the chance. He wants it _all_ , to make up for the pain. 

“Anything, Kurt,” Blaine says. “Just say the word.” 

Kurt chooses not to say any words. Instead, he takes Blaine’s hand and pulls him gently to his bed. 

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Blaine asks, looking steadily into Kurt’s eyes. Kurt swallows and nods. 

“I’m sure,” he says, breathless but certain. “Just--touch me?” 

Blaine cups Kurt’s cheek in response. “Always.” 

And then they’re kissing again, harder than before. Blaine is insistent, and Kurt is more than willing to let him take Kurt where he will, which is sideways and down onto the bed, his head falling onto his pillow and pressing back into it as Blaine climbs over him, hands petting down Kurt’s arms as his lips fall to his throat. 

“That--that feels good,” Kurt says, a nervous giggle in his words. “Keep--keep going.” 

Blaine hums and latches onto the side of Kurt’s neck, suckling and biting lightly. Kurt squirms, feeling it throughout his body, pulling between his legs. 

And that’s when it hits him. This is _real._ This is happening. It’s been a day of steady courses of realizations like this, of moments when the reality of it strikes him. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t entirely believe this to be real yet--it’s surreal to him, getting exactly what he wants and feeling _safe_ and loved. 

But this is absolutely happening. He feels himself start to shake--it’s huge, it seems insurmountable. This is going to happen, he’s going to--to _give_ himself to Blaine. He’s going to open his body and his heart to a man he loves for the first time, and his heart flutters as though it has climbed to a great height and just felt the vertigo. 

“Sshh, you’re okay,” Blaine says, and Kurt feels just how hard he’s trembling. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to--” 

“I do want to,” Kurt says. “I think it just hit me how much.” 

Blaine kisses him, pets his hair and down one side of him. “You’re shaking.” 

“I’m just--nervous, I guess,” Kurt admits, cheeks flushing. Blaine smiles down at him. 

“Your body knows what to do, Kurt,” he says. “Trust it. What is it telling you it wants?” 

“You,” Kurt says, hoping Blaine knows what he means--that he aches, empty, hopes that Blaine will fill him. “I want you.” 

Blaine nods, so beautiful above Kurt. “And your heart?” 

“The same.” 

Blaine kisses him again, and then smiles once more. “I feel the same thing. So--can we figure it out together?” 

“Well--I mean--” Kurt pauses. “It’s not--it’s still my first time--” 

“Do you think I’d bond with just anyone?” Blaine asks. “It’s my first time as well, Kurt.” 

Kurt blinks. Three hundred years and never…? 

“I can tell you have questions,” Blaine says. “But why don’t we answer them...a little later…” 

His hand slides down over Kurt’s side and lands on his hip, fingertips digging in on his flank, and Kurt arches up into him at the touch. “O-okay.” 

More kisses, more touching, and then Blaine’s hands find the fastenings of his clothing and begin to undo them. “You’re so beautiful, Kurt.” 

Kurt tries to catch his breath. “Well. I do my best.” 

Blaine laughs. “I mean it. There’s no one like you.” 

Kurt’s jacket falls open, and he leans up to shuck it off, leaving him in only his thin undershirt. Blaine slides it up along his sides, revealing his stomach and chest bit by bit. 

“Mm,” Kurt hums. Blaine kisses up his ribs and over his nipples, suckling and following with his hands, and Kurt arches up and moans underneath it. “Oh. _Oh--oh_ \--” 

“Mmm, yes,” Blaine groans. “Kurt--” 

He pushes at Kurt’s shirt until he gets the idea and takes it off, and while he does, Blaine pushes down at his pants, sliding them over his hips and down his thighs, taking his smallclothes down as well. It leaves Kurt completely bare, and Kurt fights the urge to cover himself up when he lies back down, watching as Blaine pulls the clothing and his boots from his ankles, dropping it all off to the side. 

“So beautiful,” Blaine breathes, and then he stands, shedding his own clothing quickly until he’s as naked as Kurt, and so--so gorgeous, hard and compact and _gods_ Kurt’s eyes fall right to his cock, standing stiff between his legs. His legs part on instinct, and Blaine gasps and all but _falls_ back over Kurt. “Oh, Kurt--” 

They cling to each other and kiss, lips frantic and messy as their bodies press together, tentative and then desperate all at once. Each point of contact, from the lightest brush of fingertips to the massive expanse of Blaine’s torso against his own, thighs and calves and hips and arms, warm Kurt deeply--Blaine’s temperature runs high as it is, but Kurt can feel it in his _bones_ where Blaine is _touching_ him-- 

“Let me taste you,” Blaine breathes, dropping kisses down Kurt’s chest and stomach without waiting for an answer. “Mm--let me--” 

Kurt’s heart flickers again, but he nods, feeling too light as his legs part for Blaine, who sinks between them. 

The first touch of his lips is just as Kurt dreamed--like lightning, crackling and buzzing with pleasure. He kisses and breathes over Kurt, and then _licks_ , spreading Kurt with his fingers to get deeper, first at his hole, and then to access his clitoris, flicking just under that pulsing point of _too much_ , making Kurt’s thighs spasm around his head. 

“Oh!” he exclaims, hands flying up to his mouth. “I--Blaine--” 

Blaine starts on him in earnest, and Kurt gasps, covering his mouth and panting as he kisses and licks and _sucks_ , and it’s never enough but it’s incredible, but he needs _more_ , something more, anything more-- 

“Tell me what feels good,” Blaine says, sounding unsure, and Kurt remembers--it’s his first time as well. 

“Okay, um--a little up--” Blaine obliges. “Now, just--just a little more--oh, there--there, oh gods--just--just a little harder--” 

One hand drops to Blaine’s hair, threading in and guiding him without a second thought, and Blaine moans and presses up into Kurt’s hand. 

“Oh, can--can I--” 

“Please,” Blaine rasps. “Go ahead, pull me in--” 

Kurt reaches with his other hand, and as he settles them apart, he finds Blaine’s horns under his hands. He gently wraps his hands around them, and then does as Blaine requests and _pulls_ , and--oh, _oh gods_ \-- 

“More,” he gasps, and his legs spread wider and he rocks down into Blaine’s mouth as he licks just--almost right, not quite there, but enough, gods enough, enough for Kurt to move his hips and pull himself down and ride against him, getting the contact where he needs it desperately. 

“I need--gods, I need--” Kurt licks his lips and blushes at the profanity, but Blaine doesn’t seem to mind. “I need you to--to touch me. To--inside--” 

Blaine surfaces and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before crawling up and kissing Kurt deeply. It tastes--strange, sharp, not entirely pleasant, but not unpleasant, just--different from anything Kurt’s ever tasted. It’s _himself_ , and he allows it, if only because Blaine is passionate for him. 

“I’ll--I can do that,” Blaine says, breathless, hand sliding down between them. “Can--you want this?” 

He taps down over Kurt’s hole with his fingers, and Kurt lifts his hips up. “Yes, yes please-- _oh_ \--” 

One finger slides slowly inside, and it’s not like Kurt’s own fingers. It’s thicker, and a different angle, but he opens around it easily enough. 

“Where--here--” 

Blaine presses it _up_ , and Kurt gasps and rocks down into it. _Oh_ what _was_ that-- 

“Does that feel good?” Blaine asks, pulsing his finger up, up, up, into that spot, and Kurt didn’t know, hadn’t--hadn’t explored that much, what-- 

“Yes,” Kurt says, and Blaine does it again. It’s almost like the urge to urinate, but it’s _better_ , further into the feeling of pleasure, and Kurt moves with it, feeling it building inside of him, pressure and pleasure and _more_. 

“Another?” Blaine asks, and Kurt nods, _uh-huh_ falling high-pitched out of his mouth as his hands fly to grasp Blaine’s bicep on the arm he’s using as he pulls out and presses with two fingers instead. It’s so much _wider_ and Kurt kind of _loves_ it even if it’s a bit awkward, and even more so at three. 

“Just--oh _yes_ \--” 

“Oh, Kurt--” 

“Need you,” Kurt says, pulling his hips back. Blaine withdraws his fingers immediately. “I need you, I need--gods, please--” 

“Are you--you’re wet, but--” 

Kurt reaches down and tests--and yes, he’s _drenched_ , and when he tries his own fingers two slide in easily. He’s eager, he’s _ready_. 

“Trusting my body,” Kurt says. “Please. Trust me.” 

Blaine nods, and lies between Kurt’s legs, but then suddenly Kurt remembers one thing. 

“Oh!” he says. “Wait, just--just one minute--” 

He rolls to the side, to the table by his bedside, and opens the drawer. He pulls out his charmed bracelet and slips it over his hand and around his wrist. 

“There,” he says. “Now we’re ready.” 

“That’s a good idea,” Blaine says, obviously familiar with the sort of bracelet it is. “Are you--are you ready?” 

“Yes,” Kurt says, and the nerves are back, and he feels tense, but Blaine smiles sweetly at him and kisses him and it _will_ be all right. It’s just something new--Kurt is good at adapting to something new. 

At first, there’s discomfort, as Blaine lines up and presses inside. It’s a _lot_ , and there’s so much pressure, but he doesn’t feel any pain, at least. Just the inexorable push of Blaine inside him, filling him until there’s nothing left to fill. 

Kurt lies, gasping for breath, and Blaine soothes him gently, with hands and lips and soft coos and reassurances and compliments. They help, Kurt thinks--at least, he feels better as he adjusts from the feeling of _too much can I take it I can’t can I I can I can I can_ to actually adjusting, his body opening and softening. It’s designed to do this, it carries him, buoys him up as he settles, until finally he _needs_ something more to happen. 

“Move,” Kurt says. “Please move.” 

Blaine nods, and then he _moves_. Out, and then back in, faster this time, and then again, and again, and again, and it feels _wonderful._ The pressure is big enough to hit that spot within Kurt, and it feels like Blaine is _scraping_ over it, and Kurt feels pressure building again from it, building up and up and up as Blaine moves, and it’s like he can barely feel anything else. He tingles and he rocks against it and noises fall from his lips as he finds a rhythm with Blaine, struggling together after long stretches of time trying to line up until finally it _fits_. Their hips move in tandem, and Kurt clings to Blaine with arms and legs, rocks with him, head thrown back and mouth open around his cries. 

“Need--need more,” Kurt gasps, finally, when it’s all too much and Blaine is sweating above him and grunting with the effort of moving inside him. “Blaine, please--” 

“Touch yourself,” Blaine grits out, rising up just enough to let Kurt’s hand slide in, and Kurt knows what to do now. He presses his fingers over his clit and then Blaine lies back down and _oh_ the extra pressure as Kurt moves his fingers is _perfect_ and he’s so turned on and wet that he just _glides_ in circles over himself and it sparks deep in him, harder, harder-- 

“--Harder, _harder_ ,” Kurt demands, and Blaine cries out and complies, pounding into Kurt, and Kurt shouts and _comes_ , toes curling, legs stretching, body seizing up as Blaine just keeps _going_ , pulling more from him than he’s ever felt, a _pressure_ releasing as he squeezes around the cock inside of him. 

And then it snaps, and it’s too much under his fingers. He pulls them back, just in time for Blaine to squeeze him tight and _falter_ , mouthing at Kurt’s throat as he pounds in once, twice, three times more before grinding deep and--and _coming_ , Kurt realizes, he’s coming, and that’s so _delicious_ that Kurt could cause this in Blaine, and-- 

_Warmth._ Warmth fills Kurt like he’s never felt, like he’s suddenly standing before a great fire, and it’s not coming from Blaine--it’s coming from _inside_ himself, all throughout his body, rushing like wildfire catching through him. 

“Blaine?” he asks, scared, but Blaine is instantly there, kissing him, petting him. 

“It’s okay,” he breathes. “It’s just us.” 

It abates slowly, and Kurt sighs deeply as Blaine pulls from him, leaving him too wet and messy and empty. “What is--us?” 

“Our bond,” Blaine says. “I was able to--channel my magic, at the time of completion. It’s a deep magic, hard to reach, but--I must say, you pulled it out of me.” 

Kurt bursts out laughing and rolls into Blaine’s waiting arms, sighing and shivering as Blaine’s fingers drag through the sweat on his back. “So--we’re bonded?” 

“Mm. Yes.” 

“And--what exactly does that mean now?” 

Blaine kisses his forehead. “It means we’re--matched. I am tied to you. We can feel each other--if we’re far away, or if we need to communicate, we can. Our feelings will be-- _available_ to each other. And we’ll be able to speak in each other’s minds when I am in my dragon form.” 

“What about--” Kurt remembers his father’s words, and he suddenly feels horrible he didn’t face this before they consummated their bond. “Oh, Blaine, I’m sorry--what about--about how many years together--” 

“Your lifespan will be lengthened,” Blaine says. “Not by too much. But a bit. Mine will shorten some as well, as you’ll be pulling your years from me.” 

Kurt tenses up. “Oh no. Blaine, no--” 

“They are years I wouldn’t use anyway,” Blaine says. “Not without something to fill my days with joy.” 

Kurt lets that sink in, lets Blaine kiss and hold him and soothe him down. He doesn’t know what to think of that. 

“Please don’t let that ruin our time together,” Blaine says. “I’d gladly give even more to have you with me.” 

“Okay,” Kurt says. “I’ll let it go for now. Anything else?” 

“We’ll be able to mate, if you wish,” Blaine says. “Human children. I have access to a fully human body now--I can even hide my horns if you want.” 

“I like your horns,” Kurt says. “And let’s not think about children yet, shall we?” 

Blaine fingers at his bracelet. “Mmm. Not yet.” 

“All right. So. What else should I know?” 

Blaine lifts his face and kisses him. “You should know that I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

\-- 

There’s more talking, and more lovemaking. There’s a meal, brought by Elliott, who sits with them and toasts to them with a fine vintage wine that Kurt rather appreciates. There’s solitude again, and promises that no one will disturb them. Then there’s the bed again, and a deep sleep. 

Kurt dreams again that night, and this time, it’s not hurtful as he feels Blaine beside him in the dream. That’s what he’d felt--why he’d been unable to let go, why he’d felt haunted. It’s because Blaine really is in the dream with him, it seems. And this time, it’s welcome as he dreams of riding Blaine over the clouds. 

When he wakes, it’s to Blaine smiling. 

“We can do it, you know,” he says. “I can change anytime.” 

Kurt’s eyes widen. “You mean--we could, right now?” 

“Do you want that?” 

Kurt sits bolt upright, nodding and grinning. “Can we? Please?” 

Blaine grins with him, looking achingly young all of a sudden. “Let’s go, before your father catches us.” 

“Oh--” Kurt hesitates. “My father--” 

“We’ll make it all right with him,” Blaine says. “After all, he trusted you with me for six years. What’s one more morning?” 

“And one night--” 

“Come on,” Blaine says. “You want to do it, so. I want to do it for you.” 

He takes Kurt’s hand, and pulls him to the closet. “Dress. And--if I could borrow a robe.” 

Kurt hands him a dressing robe and throws on a simple tunic and pants, and then his boots. “Come on.” 

They run through the halls together like children, laughing and bolting past the guards, who ignore them all the way out to the garden. 

“Change here,” Kurt says. “No one will see you.” 

They’re in the grand center of the garden, at the fountain, and there’s plenty of room, Kurt finds as he backs away. Blaine winks, removes his robe, and drops it to the side before he _shifts._ It’s--it’s strange to watch, that _twist_ of his body before the dragon _curls_ outward, but Kurt feels gifted to have watched it. 

“Are you ready?” Blaine rumbles, once he’s settled into his dragon form. Kurt looks up at him fondly. 

“Yes,” he says. Blaine lowers his neck, and Kurt scrambles to climb up, using his leg as a step and finally hoisting himself up onto Blaine’s shoulders, between two spines. He settles awkwardly, and then clings to the spine in front of him as Blaine rises up. 

“We’ll go easy the first time,” Blaine says. “Are you really ready?” 

“Yes!” Kurt says, before he loses his nerve. “Go!” 

Wing beats like wind gusting around him, and then his stomach drops as they _rise_. Up, up, up, and Kurt feels unsteady and terrified and _wonderful_. 

_Is it like you dreamed?_ Kurt hears, as though from inside his own head. Blaine’s voice. 

_It’s better_ , Kurt thinks back, hard. He hears a chuckle in return. 

_Then let’s go._

And with a rush of wind around him, Blaine shoots forward and up into the clouds. 

Kurt has never felt so free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your love and support, comments and kudos. You guys are great. Thanks for reading!


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